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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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GLEANINGS 

FROM 



Merrimac Valley, 



REBECCA I. DAVIS. 



SHEAF NUMBER ONE. 

Third Edition, Revised and Enlarged. 



** Stream of my fathers! sweetly stiik^^ / 
The sunset-rays thy valley Jill; 
Poured slantwise dozvn the long defile, 
Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile.'''' 



'NOV 28 1887^ 



haverhill, mass. : 

Chase Brothers, 13-15 Washington St. 

1887 






Copyrighted by Rebkcca I. Davis, 
1881— 1887 



ALL RIGHTS RESEUVEU. 



ESPECIALLY THE COUNTESS AND SNOW BOUND, 

THIS LirrLE VOLUME 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



•^ Gleanings from MerriniaG Valley,-^ 

By REBECCA I. DAVIS. 



Danvers, January 12, 1882 
"Thanks for your pretty little book, which I have read with pleasure. 
I thank thee heartily for gathering up the histories and traditions of dear 
old Haverhill." 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

"Have read your book with a great deal of interest. Trust you will 
give us other new and interesting sketches." 

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 

"Have met with but few narratives of late better worth reading than 
that of Harriet Livermore. May your pretty volume find its way to 
many a Christmas table" 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

"Have read your 'Gleanings' with much interest, and my husband, who 
is better acquainted with the people and things referred to, was even 
more interested." 

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 

"Have read your book with great interest, and hope you will record 
with your graceful pen, other interesting scenes and legends of our be- 
loved valley." 

BEN: PERLEY POORE. 



SHEAF NUMBER TWO. 

"Have been much interested in the little volume." 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

"A beautiful volume — full of matters of interest to natives and resi- 
dents from Haverhill to the sea." 

PORTLAND TRANSCRIPT. 

"A delightful book, especially to all lovers of Whittier." 

NORMAL HERALD, IND. 

"Miss Davis is doing a valuable work in her reminiscences of Whittier 
and characters spoken of in his poems." 

HAVERHILL BULLETIN. 

"The volume is written with the characteristic modesty and simplicity 
of the author." HAVERHILL GAZETTE. 



PREFACE. 



A CERTAIN writer has said, "The Merrimac Valley is to 
New England what Greece is to the world — the cradle 
of the great and the good, the birth-place of art, genius, 
song, oratory, and moral greatness. 

"So many are the interesting reminiscences, traditions and 
histories of our river, it would take a lifetime to write them 
all, and he who would perform that task would die in love 
with his labor, and seek no better reward, if the spirits of 
the dead linger about the earth, than to have his eternal al- 
lotment where he could see the bright waters of the Merri- 
mac flow to the sea." 

Receiving our birth upon its enchanted borders, we have 
listened from childhood to its romances, histories and tradi- 
tions with marvelous interest; and among our gleanings^ 
sketched briefly the lives of two individuals made famous 
in history, by the allusion to them of our townsman poet in 
his works, viz : Miss Harriet Livermore, the "half welcome 
guest" of Snow Bound, and the Countess, Mrs. Francis de 
Vipart, to both of which additions have here been made. 

We had no idea when writing them of placing them on 
permanent record in book form, but the unexpected favor 
which they have received, together with the advice of friends 



6 PREFACE. 

that they be thus preserved with other gleanings, gathered 
as we have wandered along the banks of our charming river 
in earlier and later years, we deem sufficient apology. 

It is with many misgivings that we venture upon the pub- 
lic our simple work, trusting if it possesses any real merit, 
our friends will not fail to discover it, asking a kindly for- 
bearance for all imperfections also. 

To the critic, we would say, no one is more aware of the 
existence of them than ourselves, but would remind them in 
the language of Pope that 

"Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, 
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er can be. 
In every work, regard the writer's end, 
Since none can compass more than they intend. 
And if the means be just, the conduct true. 
Applause in spite of trivial fault is due." 

To the many friends who have aided us in our work, by 
words of encouragement, subscription, etc., we tender our 
sincere thanks, hoping that the perusal of the following 
simple volume may not be wholly without pleasure or profit. 

R. I. D. 

East Haverhill, Mass., September, i88i. 



NOTE. 
The ready sale of two editions of our little volume, and 
an increasing call for the same, is our only apology for the 
publication of the present edition, with a few more pages. 

R. I. D. 

East Haverhill, September, 1887. 



CONTENTS. 



Portrait taken 1838 ... - Frontispiece 

Miss Harriet Livermore - - - - - 1 1 

Whittier's Countess - - - - - - 40 

The Old Garrison House 53 

Visit to Whittier's Birthplace - . - - 58 

Lines Read at a Whittier Entertainment - - - 67 

Part Two, Poems, 69 

Dedication 7^ 

The Sea - 72 

Not to Die 74 

I Love the Woods 7^ 

Ambition 77 

Strew Flowers, Memorial Day, 1874 - - - 79 

Bridal Hymn 82 

Beautiful Gate 83 



8 CONTENTS. 

Lines, written for a Temperance Reform Club, 1878 85 

Alone With God 88 

Fidelity 90 

Lines, written with reference to the attempted assassina- 
tion of President Garfield, and the day set apart by 
the Governor of Massachusetts to pray for his re- 
covery 92 

Childhood 93 

To Mr. and Mrs. J. P. 65 

The Outcast 96 

vSemi Centennial Hymn 99 

Call Me DarHng, Papa 102 

Temperance Hymn 104 

Lines - - 105 

New Year, 1873 107 

Earth's Jewels 108 

Lines, written for a Holmes' Entertainment, April 14, 

1881 no 

On the Reception of a Lovely Rose - - - - 1 12 

Olden Memories - - - - - - - 1 13 

Winter Scenes 114 

I Would I Were a Careless Child - - ■ - 117 

A Kingdom that Cannot be Moved - - - - 118 

The Refiner 120 

Gleaning - - - - - - - - - 122 



CONTENTS. 9 

Silver Wedding Hymn 124 

Woman - - - - - - - - 126 

April Day - - - 127 

No Weeping There 128 

New England 131 

Autumn - - - - - - - - 132 

The Crusaders 134 

Lines, presented to a friend, Christmas, 1873, with a pic- 
ture made from autnmn leaves - - - - 135 

Lines, read at the Memorial Services of President Gar- 
field, in the Baptist Church, East Haverhill, Sunday, 
September 25, 188 1 135 



HARRIET LIVERMORE, 

OF SNOW BOUND. 
Born April 14, 1788. Died March 30, 1868. 



T^HE name of Harriet Livermore, the Religious 
■■■ Enthusiast and Pilgrim Preacher, was not un- 
known to Fame before the appearance of Snow 
Bound ; but since Whittier has given her so large a 
place, as forming one of the interesting characters 
on that "wintry night," it is destined to live as long 
as the lovers of poetry shall delight to pore over 
this simple, but beautiful poem, which a late writer 
has pronounced his "crowning work." She was the 
granddaughter of Hon. Saii. ^1 Livermore, who 
settled in Portsmouth, N. H., in 1758, and was 
appointed by Gov. Wentworth, Attorney General 



I 2 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

to the Crown for New Hampshire, and one of the 
former's principal advisers in the troubles of the 
day. He was also a Judge, and United States 
Senator from 1796 to 180 1. In 1769 he removed 
to Holderness, N. H., and purchased a large tract 
of its territory. "He was a prominent man in that 
region, presiding at the Convention which formed 
its Constitution, which is subscribed with his name." 

In a work by Header, entitled Merrimac River, 
its Source and Tributaries, may be tound quite a 
sketch of him, from which we extract the following : 
"He was a dignified, austere and high-toned gen- 
tleman, whose habitation seemed to be among the 
clouds, and never to mix or mingle with ordinary 
mortals." He married Jane, daughter of Rev. 
Arthur Browne, of Portsmouth, N. H., who so 
gracefully performed the ceremony which united 
Gov. Wentworth to the simple, but beautiful Martha 
Hilton, — an incident which Longfellow has immor- 
talized in verse. The silver tankard which the 
Governor took from the table at the conclusion of 
the ceremony and gave to Arthur Browne, is still in 
possession of his descendants." 

Judge Livermore died in Holderness, in 1803, 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. I 3 

and was buried in the shadow of the church which 
he built, and for many years supported. The 
large **Livermore Mansion" was converted into an 
Episcopal seminary. The building was burnt a few 
years since and another erected upon its site. 

Hon. Edward St. Loe Livermore, father of Har- 
riet, we find by a sketch recently written of him by 
Mrs. C. L. A., "was born in Portsmouth, N. H., 
1762, studied law at Newburyport, Mass. in the 
office of Chief Justice Parsons ; was appointed by 
President Washington United States District At- 
torney, and afterward Justice of the Supreme Court 
of New Hampshire, serving also for three terms in 
Congress during his second residence in Newbury- 
port. When quite young he married for his first 
wife Miss Mehitable, mother of Harriet, and daugh- 
ter of Robert Harris, Esq., of Concord, N. H., who 
died at the age of twenty-eight, leaving five child- 
ren, all of, whom are dead. She was a highly 
educated and agreeable woman. 

While residing in Portsmouth, he afterwards 
married Miss Sarah Crease, daughter of WilHam 
Stackpole, a distinguished merchant of Boston. 
Her sweet temper and Christian life warmly attached 



14 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

her to all who knew her. She died at Lowell, Mass., 
October 5th, 1859. Judge Livermore died at his 
residence in Lowell, September 15th, 1832, where 
he had lived quietly for twenty-six years, and was 
buried in the Old Granary Burying Ground, Boston. 
He left seven children, four of whom are living. 
Although of a quick and hot temper, he was a 
just, hospitable and upright man." 

Harriet Livermore, the subject of our sketch, 
was born April 14, 1788, at Concord, N. H., where 
her father removed soon after being admitted to the 
bar. Though generous to a fault, from childhood 
her disposition was wholly uncontrollable, and so 
much did she dislike her step-mother that her 
father boarded her from home most of the time, 
giving her the best advantages of education. 

In "Pilgrim Stranger," written by Rev. S. T. 
Livermore, she says, "Even in my cradle an uneasy 
habit was so apparent, that my dear mother lamented 
it ere she left the world. My disposition was hasty 
and impetuous, but I was always ready to confess 
and ask forgivness for any fault." 

When scarcely five years old. Miss Livermore 
was bereft of a tender mother's care and love, whose 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 1 5 

memory was fondly cherished through hfe and her 
loss bitterly lamented. When about eight years of 
age, her father placed her at a boarding school in 
Haverhill, Mass., and as she frequently visited in 
the family of the late Judge Minot, she was intro- 
duced into the highest circles. While residing on 
Spring Street, Newburyport, she attended Byfield 
Female Seminary, and subsequently at Atkinson 
Academy, numbering among her schoolmates the 
mother of Major Ben : Perley Poore, of West New- 
bury, Mass. In 1816 her father removed to Lowell, 
Mass., and the old "Yellow House" so dilapidated 
that it has since become an appendage of St. John 
Hospital, was formerly known as the "Elegant Liv- 
ermore Mansion." "Of all the lives connected 
with this old home," says a Lowell writer, "perhaps 
none could be found to possess more strange and 
eventful history than that of the beautiful Harriet 
Livermore." Many others speak of her as beauti- 
ful, and Whittier, who has kindly furnished us with 
several items of information (sought in vain else- 
where), writes : "In my boyhood Miss Livermore 
was a fine looking young woman," of fair complex- 
ion, black hair, "a yard and a quarter in length," 



1 6 GLEANINGS FPOM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

vying with the raven in hue and glossiness, and very 
large black eyes, shaded by heavy arches, to which 
Whittier refers thus : 

"And under low brows black with night 
Rayed out at times a dangerous light." 

In person she was of medium height, and un- 
usually graceful, as the following bears testimony : 

"While spending the winter at the Capitol with 
her father when a member of Congress, a corres- 
pondent in addressing a letter to a Haverhill paper, 
spoke in very complimentary terms of the "grace- 
fulness with which the beautiful Harriet Livermore 
tripped to and fro in the 'Merry Dance,' among the 
elite of Washington." 

Years afterward, in the same city, and by per- 
mission of President Jackson, she gave one of her 
religious addresses to an assembled Congress, being 
the first female who has ever spoke publicly within 
its halls. At this date, 1886, we learn "that, she 
spoke under three other administrations, viz : Mar- 
tin Van Buren's, John Tyler's and John Quincy 
Adams." A pioneer truly, in female speaking! 
Possessed of high mental culture and brilliant 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. I7 

powers of conversation, no wonder she was so 
pleasing, except when the "Vixen instead of the 
Devotee" displayed itself, which was not unfrequent. 

Nearly seventy years ago Miss Livermore came to 
East Haverhill, Mass., the home of Whittier's "Coun- 
tess," and taught school several terms in the old 
brown school-house, where a reservoir has been placed 
and one or two terms in private houses. Though 
the Whittier children sometimes attended school in 
this locality, yet the poel informs us he never was a 
pupil of Miss Livermore, but she frequently came 
to his father's house, and hence the acquaintance. 

A lady* of eighty years, a former pupil, recalls 
the very devout manner in which Miss Livermore 
taught them to repeat the Lord's prayer and 119th 
Psalm in concert. With closed eyes, and the 
"sweet voice" to which Snow Bound refers, she 
would repeat it in tones so soft and low, as if an 
angel had strayed from out the domains of Para- 
dise, and her sister E. of six years so closely 
imitated her style as to be hardly distinguished, to 
the astonishment of all who listened, and the ex- 
ceeding gratification of her ambitious teacher. 
Lucky child, indeed ! but woe to the poor unfortu- 

*Since deceased. 



1 8 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

nate ones, who for some slight offence incurred her 
displeasure ! Threats of coming vengeance as well 
as the blows inflicted, often frightened the poor 
victims to such an extent, that it was found difficult 
to get them to return at the next session, and when 
spoken to of her threats Miss Livermore would say, 
"Of course I did not mean to fulfil them." 

Strange that a teacher of so arbitrary and pas- 
sionate a disposition should have been employed a 
second term, but it was doubtless owing to her fine 
accomplishments and high social position. 

Needlework and embroidery of exquisite design 
were taught to her pupils, the patterns of which she 
designed. 

A pretty cambric work-bag is in possession of the 
writer, wrought by a pupil under her charge, the 
initials of the child, M. P. (Mary Pillsbury), being 
wrought by Miss Livermore's own hands in a very 
skillful manner. Some of her pupils are still liv- 
ing, and all testify that VVhittier has given as 
correct a description of her character and moods, 
as the artist of the picture from which our photo- 
graph is taken. 

"The photograph," says the Quaker poet, "repre- 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 1 9 

sents her much as I saw her in Philadelphia in 1838, 
and is I think, from an engraving published forty 
years ago," when fifty-two years of age. 

While attending Atkinson Academy, N. H., in 
early life, Miss Livermore became deeply fascinated 
with a very promising and scholarly young man, 
Moses H. ElHott, from East Haverhill, who after- 
ward became a physician and settled for awhile in 
Portsmouth, N. H., and so far was her regard re- 
ciprocated, that it was generally supposed marriage 
would ensue. But at length the intimacy was 
broken at his request. 

Opposition on the part of the families of each 
lest the union should not prove a happy one, to- 
gether with a disposition on her part evidently un- 
favorable to domestic bliss, have always been 
believed by his relatives and friends to be the real 
causes of separation. 

With a spirit that could brook no opposition, like 
lovers in every age, vainly did Harriet strive to re- 
move the prejudices of Dr. E.'s family by the 
"honeyed music of her tongue," and oft-times by 
little gifts. Kneeling one day at his mother's feet, 
she besought her to accept the elegant silk and 



20 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

golden chain she brought and no longer oppose the 
marriage ; but neither gift nor proposal was ac- 
cepted, and when years afterward the news of her 
lover's death came back from the "Sunny South," 
with a spirit of triumph and revenge she said to his 
father, "If the family had not opposed their union, 
this bitter grief would have been spared them, for 
he would not have exiled himself thus and died 
among strangers." How much truth was contained 
in the above declaration it is difficult to judge, but 
such opposition is not always wise. 

Some have thought that had the union been con- 
summated, the amiable and gentle spirit of Dr. E, 
would have had such a subduing and softening in- 
fluence upon the "woman's tropical intense," as to 
have resulted in domestic happiness to both. If 
not, it was far better as it was. 

But it was not without a struggle that Dr. E. left 
his early home as it proved, forever. A deceased 
sister told us long years since, "that there was but 
little sleep in the house the night before he left," 
for nearly till the day dawned he was heard pacing 
to and fro in his room, whose ancient walls alone 
witnessed his pent up grief. 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 21 

Soon after their separation, near the close of the 
War of 1 812, Dr. Elhott was appointed surgeon in 
the United States Army, and received at its close a 
high compliment for his faithfulness and skill in re- 
lieving the wants of the sick and dying, as also for 
his gentlemanly bearing. He sustained the office of 
surgeon under government until his death, having 
charge, at that time, of the hospital at Pensacola, 
Florida, where he fell a victim to yellow fever in 
1822. Said a Haverhill paper at that time, in alluding 
to him, "In the devoted performance of duty, alone 
in the midst of pestilence and death, exhibiting a 
heroism equalled only upon the battle-field." 

Some thirty years ago. Dr. E.'s brother went to 
Pensacola, and obtaining his remains, caused them 
to be re-interred in Greenwood Cemetery, East 
Haverhill, where he sleeps with "his fathers," not 
far froin his old homestead, known as the "Garrison 
House" of colonial days. A plain, neat stone 
marks the spot, near the grave of Whittier's "Coun- 
tess," — both places of growing interest. The head- 
stone bears also the inscription of his brother 
James. Below it is seen, "Moses H. Elliott, died 
September 22, 1822, aged ^^ years." Entering the 



2 2 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

cemetery by the main path bordering upon the left 
hand, a few rods from the entrance, the grave is 
easily found. Whether Dr. E.'s long exile resulted 
from fears lest a return stir olden memories too 
deeply, was the supposition of his friends at that 
time, but for its truth we cannot vouch. 

To Miss Livermore the broken intimacy was a 
source of disappointment, judging from some sad 
fragments of verse written after the leaving of her 
lover for his Southern home, which probably caused 
her to become even more moody and eccentric. 
We learn from "Pilgrim Stranger" that Harriet 
"embraced religion at the age of twenty-three and 
joined the Congregational church in 1818," as she 
was not satisfied with the Episcopal Confirmation 
received at the age of fourteen, previous to her con- 
version. In 1825 she asked dismission of the 
Congregational church and joined the Baptists, 
which she soon discarded, her aim, she says, being 
"to draw from the sacred Word my ideas concern- 
ing the sublime subjects connected with the word 
Rehgion." Embracing at one time the Perfection- 
ist doctrine. Miss Livermore stated with great posi- 
tiveness to a Christian friend, "that she was wholly 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 23 

incapable of sinning." When lo ! and behold ! in 
conversation a few minutes after, she burst forth 
into a perfect storm of wrath, to the surprise of her 
friend, who could only reply by saying, ''Christian, 
thou hast lost thy roll." 

Says Whittier, "She was frequently at our home, 
and at one time had an idea of becoming a mem- 
ber of the Society of Friends ; but an unlucky out- 
burst of rage, resulting in a blow at a Friends house 
in Amesbury, did not encourage us to seek her 
membership. She was naturally religious, and I 
have no doubt tried hard to overcome her naturally 
passionate disposition." 

The following extracts of letters received by 
Mrs. Enoch Foot, of Rocks Village will illustrate 
the above, and her mental ability as well : 

Newburyport, November 13, 181 5. 
Dear Friend : My last visit was peculiarly pleasant, and 
I shall not soon forget it. In the journey of life, how neces- 
sary to our comfort and enjoyment are mutual acts of friend- 
ship, to ameliorate the cares and sorrows, to soften the trials 
of this mutable life. And if the Great Governor of all sys- 
tems makes any of his creatures instruments of good to us, 
how grateful should we be for his indulgent and provident 
care. I have continual calls for thank-offering, to be laid on 



24 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

his holy altar, for mercies and favors, yet, alas ! I am almost 
as insensible as marble, and cold as a Lapland winter. I 
mourn over my ungrateful heart, and reproach it as desper- 
ately wicked. How prone is the human heart to revolt from 
God, and deny him that homage so justly his due. We 
ought to long and pray for that glorious era, when his name 
shall be adored from the rising of the sun to the west; when 
the kingdom and dominion under the whole heaven shall be 
devoted to his beloved Son, of whose reign there shall be no 
end. 

For this I hope thou art making daily supplication. The 
saints of the Most High should cry unto him day and night, 
and give him no rest, till he make Jerusalem a praise in the 
whole earth, until her "light go forth as brightness, and her 
salvation as a lamp that burneth." 

Farewell, my dear friend. Remember at the throne of 
Divine Grace, the unworthy H. Livermore. 

Under date of May 25, 181 7, she writes to the 
same friend thus : 

My health is not good, and I've made up my mind to re- 
side in the country this summer, if I do not succeed in 
obtaining a school. I should be pleased to reside in thy 
family for about four months if thou coulds't consent to it. 
I wish to live retired, to have a chamber by myself, and am 
willing to conform to anything reasonable. Being habitually 
of a slender habit, I wish to board with people who are 
tender and merciful to the sick and afilicted. And viewing 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 25 

my soul as precious and immortal, I desire to live where the 
fear of the Lord is, and prayer is wont to be made. 

Am sensible that trials await me everywhere, while sojourn- 
ing in this vale of tears, and therefore do not expect happi- 
ness without alloy, till my spirit is at rest in Jesus' bosom, 
beyond the skies. 

Would like to make some return to my friends for favors, 
and hope Providence will sometime grant the wish. My 
parents are generous, but it is my duty to be prudent. Fare- 
well. Remember me in your prayers. h. l. 

From a series of Miss Livermore's letters in book 
form, published in 1824, entitled "Scriptural Evi- 
dences in Favor of Female Testimony," we beg 
leave to insert the following, showing also some- 
what oi her poetical gift : 

Since I came to New Hampshire, on a visit to the place 
where I followed the example of my blessed Lord in water 
baptism, I have felt a solemn impression concerning the sub- 
ject of Female Public Improvement in Gospel Testimony, so 
generally considered ludicrous and contemptible; and by a 
majority of the professed advocates for Christianity, de- 
nounced against as unscriptural, of course anti-Christian; 
utterly improper, and absolutely degrading to the cause of 
Zion. I love pure gospel liberty. Lord Jesus, ever preserve 
me from abusing it, or using it for a cloak of maliciousness. 



26 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Direct my heart, my eye, my pen. 
While I thy sacred page may scan. 
To prove my theme by thee approved. 
That females, by thy spirit moved, 
May preach the Name by Mary loved, 
Jesus, the humble sinner's Friend. 

In letter six, presenting Esther as a subject to 
prove her theme, she says : 

I have always when reading the Book of Esther, fancied I 
could discern amid the obscurity which is around the path of 
Mordecai, a truly magnanimous character. To me, the name 
conveys also the situation of his mind, Mordecai (bitterness). 

Near the royal gate, my fancy views reclining. 
This "woe-begone" exile from his native country, 
Minghng his sighs with the mournful gales of evening. 
Weeping for Zion. 

See the "big tear-drop," while his soul remembers 
Jerusalem, his native, desolated country, 
And recollects the night, when the fierce Assyrian army 
Laid low its glory. 

Listen to the voice, while strains of bitter anguish 
Flow from a soul allied to deepest sorrow. 
No return to Salem, can I ever look for, 
"Land of my fathers." 



HARRiET LIVERMORE. 27 

Yet, to my faithful and lacerated bosom, 
Thou art still dear, and often memory dwells on 
Thy once dazzling glories, exceeding other lands, by 
Gift of Jehovah, 

From a letter to her father, dated Philadelphia, 
January 24, 1826, we learn how abundant were her 
Christian labors, of which she writes thus : 

Three weeks ago I was in Vermont. I came down by the 
banks of Connecticut River, into Massachusetts; then into 
my favorite state, Connecticut, from thence to New York. 
In that city I was noticed, as far as 1 was known. The 
British Consul and President of the United States Bank in- 
vited me to their houses. I preached in three Methodist 
chapels, three private houses, and one Academy. 

August 24, came to Philadelphia, staid one night, and 
went to Germantown, and labored in the gospel five weeks. 
Preached to multitudes In all my visits never have I given 
and received greater satisfaction. I came to Philadelphia 
about five weeks ago. My labors here are arduous, for one 
so feeble, but "hitherto the Lord has helped me." Have 
preached among Presbeterians, Episcopals, Methodists and 
Dunkers, also at the Magdalen House, Widows' Asylum and 
the Prison. At the last place I was attended by a number of 
gentlemen, but not a single female. "What would have been 
your feelings had you seen your poor wanderer, passing 
through the iron doors, hearing the keys turn upon her, 
walking through the damp Prison yard to the gloomy recess 



2Q GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

for the prisoners to meet in to hear the gospel; standing be- 
fore five hundred miserable devotees to vice, offering them 
salvation in the name of Jesus? After meeting, a very re- 
spectful thank-offering saluted my ear from the poor convicts, 
with the request that I would come again. 

Next Sabbath, if "the Lord will," I intend to address the 
female prisoners. It is good for me to visit such places. I 
hear a voice saying, "Who maketh thee to differ?" and 
"What hast thou that thou didst not receive?" Since I have 
preached in Philadelphia, I find myself pressed by two 
extremes, viz : "popular applause" and censure. "Some say 
one thing, and some another." I am reported one day as 
"crazy," another, as "love-sick," and "banished by you." 
Another, I am an "angel dropped from the skies;'' but I try 
to be patient, and would say to my Lord and Master : 
"Lest I should once disgrace thy cause, 

Make me, O Lord, to grow 
Deaf both to censure and applause, 
And dead to all below." 

Of all the reports raised by envy and malice, none aftiict 
me, but the detestable lie, "that my father has exiled me." 
Yet even this I must bear. I will endeavor to watch, that I 
may not disgrace the Livermore, and above all, the Chris- 
tian name. 

But I must close. Farewell, my dear parents. May your 
hearts be devoted to the Saviour, and your souls rest in his 
love. From your affectionate daughter, 

H. Livermore. 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 29 

As early as 1824, we think, Miss Livermore spoke 
publicly in the old brown school-house at East 
Haverhill, Newton, N. H., and the surrounding 
towns. "Pilgrim Stranger" informs us, "In 1825, at 
the age of thirty-seven years, she undertook and 
forever abandoned teaching, to enter upon her life- 
work as an Evangelist, assuming the name of "The 
Pilgrim Stranger." Previous to this time she had 
addressed assembhes of fifteen hundred souls." 

"Miss Livermore was a firm Adventist. In 1847 
she writes, 'My hope that I shall re-visit Mt. Zion 
and on that sacred ground yield up the ghost is 
firm.' Sixteen years of her life were spent in dif- 
ferent countries, having crossed the Atlantic ten 
times during her five voyages, in four of which it is 
certain she visited Jerusalem." , 

"In May, 1832, she undertook a pilgrimage to 
the 'Far West,' being absent a year. Several 
months were spent among the Indians at Fort 
Leavenworth, Kansas. Her journey amounted to 
six thousand miles, much of it through a vast wil- 
derness. She wished to be of service to the poor 
Indians, as she felt that they belonged to Joseph's 
house and would yet be restored to Palestine ; but 



30 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

being opposed by the Commissioners on Indian 
Affairs, could not spend her Hfe with them as she 
intended." Soon after her return she set her face 
toward Jerusalem. 

Her travels as an evangelist were by stage, pri- 
vate conveyance, and sometimes on foot. "Twice, 
for want of money," she writes, "I walked until my 
feet were festered, and my whole frame entirely ex- 
hausted." 

Three valuable silver spoons bearing her own 
mother's initials, (M. H.,) were of much service to 
her by pawning them to some trusty person in 
need, but unfortunately were stolen from her. 

Says a Portsmouth journal in noticing her death : 
"About forty years ago Miss Livermore became a 
public teacher." Speaking first in school-houses, 
afterward in churches, and frequently in what is 
known as the Loft on Mechanic Street, Portsmouth. 
A gentleman who was in Philadelphia in 1838 in- 
forms us that he heard her give a very interesting 
address to a large company of respectful sailors, 
upon one of the wharves of that city. 

Miss Livermore was also quite noted as an author. 
She published in all nearly a score of books, most- 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 3 1 

ly religious. Among the variety were volumes of 
sermons and hymns which were at one time much 
used among the Dunkers. Her religious novel en- 
titled, a ''Wreath from Jessamine Lawn," the plot 
of which is laid in England, is very facinating and 
skilfully written, and many of her poems show 
marked excellence. 

The sale of the above aided her a good deal in 
expenses of travel, etc. Part of them were 
published by Mrs. Lydia R. Bailey, the woman 
printer of Philadelphia. Pleasing and graceful as 
a speaker, she attracted large numbers to listen, as 
it was a novelty to hear a female speak in those 
days. Says Gov. George N. Briggs in Rev. Mr. 
Livermore's Memoir, "She is the sweetest singer I 
ever heard and can be heard distinctly by a 
thousand persons," which must have added much 
to the interest of her meetings. 

Whittier tells us, "She was also quite earnest and 
eloquent, and spent some time among the Dunkers 
of Pennsylvania, and was regarded by them as a 
gifted Christian minister." Here as elsewhere Miss 
Livermore's labors were much blessed. Her first 
sermon in Philadelphia was delivered in a Dunkers' 



32 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY, 

church, and we are informed by Col. T. E. Major, 
Hon. B. F. Buder's private secretary, "that it was the 
means of his mother's conversion, and that a very 
intimate friendship existed between them through 
Hfe." Miss Sarah Righter afterward married Rev. 
Thomas Major, and for forty years she preached the 
Gospel with much success until her death in 1884, 
which was much lamented. 

The heart of the "Pilgrim Stranger," as Harriet 
styled herself, must have been greatly cheered by 
the above instance of success in her labors, all of 
which we trust will not go unrewarded by the Great 
Master, however much chaff may have been 
mingled with the wheat, when 

The heavenly reapers shall descend 
And Heaven cry harvest home. 

She loved the Holy Land and wished to die 
there, but in this she was disappointed, though her 
weary feet had so often pressed its sacred soil. 
Says a Philadelphia paper at the time of her decease 
in alluding to her voyages to Jerusalem : "The first 
was taken secretly ; but finally her friends heard of 
her in Europe, Asia and Africa. 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 33 

"Since then what old cathedral town, 
Has missed the pilgrim's staff and gown; 
What convent door has held its lock 
Against the challenge of her knock?" 

At one time, we find her in Egypt, giving our 
late Consul, Mr. Thayer, a world of trouble from 
her peculiar notions. At another, we see her amid 
the gray olive slopes of Jerusalem, demanding, not 
begging, money for the Great King. And once, 
when an American fresh from home, during the late 
rebellion, offered her a handful of greenbacks, she 
threw them away with disdain, saying, 'The Great 
King will only have gold.' At another, she climbed 
the sides of Mt. Libanus and visited Lady Stan- 
hope, daughter of Lord Chatham, that eccentric 
niece of the 'younger Pitt,' who married a sheik of 
the mountains, and thus had a fine opportunity of 
securing the choicest steeds of the Orient. Going 
to the stable one day, Lady Hester pointed out to 
Harriet Livermore two very fine horses with pecu- 
liar marks, but differing in color. 'That one^' said 
Lady Hester, 'the Great King when he comes will 
ride, and the other I will ride in company with 
Him.' Thereupon Miss Livermore gave a most 



34 



GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 



emphatic *no !" declaring with fore-knowledge and 
a plomb, that the Great King will ride this horse, 
and it is I, as his bride, who will ride upon the 
other, at his second coming.' It is said she carried 
her point with Lady Hester, overpowering her with 
her fluency and assertion." 

No wonder Whittier speaks of her as 

"Startling from her desert throne 
The crazy Queen of Lebanon, 
With claims fantastic as her own." 

It was probably while wandering "through Smyr- 
na's plague hushed thoroughfares," that a Turk 
offered her his arm as escort, when with a Greek- 
like hatred she scornfully refused, saying, "Chris- 
tians have no dealings with the Turks," and this 
antagonism seems still destined to exist. As early 
as 1838, when 50 years of age, the author of Snow 
Bound says, "Miss Livermore staid at my boarding 
place in Philadelphia for several days, and I assisted 
her in getting an audience for a lecture on her 
foreign travels, which gave her about $150." She 
may have begun to lecture earlier, but this was 
probably after her first voyage. It was doubtless 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 35 

about this time that, lecturing in New Bedford, an 
instance of her unreasonable disposition manifested 
itself, much to the annoyance of the lady who was 
conveying her by carriage to fulfill a lecture ap- 
pointment a few miles distant. As Miss Livermore 
was encumbered with several parcels, she insisted 
that her companion should relieve her of a band- 
box containing her Quaker cap ; but as they were 
about to cross a bridge, with a high wind blowing, 
and the horse somewhat restive, she kindly refused, 
when lo ! the bandbox took to itself wings, now 
sailing high in air, then changing its course, lowered 
into the stream and sailed away ''like a thing of 
life," despite its valuable contents. 

This proved too much for poor human nature to 
bear calmly, and as usual its owner gave way to her 
wrathful feelings. The destination being reached, 
by some effort on the part of friends, another cap 
was substituted, and the lecture went on in spite of 
the missing one. 

On Miss Livermore's return, in 1862, from her 
last voyage to Jerusalem, she was for several years 
supported by her relatives and friends, to whom she 
became so troublesome that she found herself home- 



36 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

less. From Mr. Livermore's narrative we learn 
that "November 13, 1867, she was admitted as an 
inmate of Blockley Almshouse, West Philadelphia," 
where she died in five months, March 30, 1868. 
Had she lived fifteen days longer, she would have 
attained the age of eighty-one years. She was 
placed there by her nephew, son of Mr. Thomas 
Haven, of Philadelphia, who married a sister of 
Harriet. "This brother-in-law was appointed by 
her brother Samuel's will to hold her property in 
trust, from which she was to receive yearly an an- 
nuity of $250, but he lost it by unfortunate invest- 
ments," which was a constant source of grief to 
Miss Livermore until her death in a paupers' home. 
Her kind friend, Mrs. Margarett F. Worrell, 
caused her body to be brought to her own home in 
Germantown, Pennsylvania, for burial, where a cir- 
cle of friends who had knoAvn her in better days 
gathered to drop a tear of affection over the unfor- 
tunate but useful disciple. Her remains were taken 
to Mrs. Worrell's lot in the cemetery of the Bunkers 
in the rear of Main Street, and carefully buried, 
and soon after Mrs. Worrell was laid beside her, 
where together they sleep till the resurrection morn. 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 



37 



Says her niece, Miss Fannie A. Haven, of Phila- 
delphia, to whom we are indebted for several items, 
"I was at my aunt's funeral. She looked very 
handsome and life-like in her coffin, and the small, 
'tapering hand' to which Snov/ Bound refers, so 
marble-like and beautiful, as if chiselled by a mas- 
ter hand. No headstone marks her grave." 

While we cannot help regretting the fact, especial- 
ly as it would be more easily found, Mr. Livermore 
tells us "that at the age of thirty-seven, in the year 
1826, Miss Livermore wrote thus : 'There is a sound 
I could desire might perfume the air around my 
grave, and a balm I hope will flourish there. I 
mean the widow and orphan confessing me their 
friend in life — this would be fame sufficient.' " 
Judging from the above extract, her lone grave re- 
mains as she desired ; but as the locality becomes 
more widely known, stranger and friend will be 
found wending their way to the spot, beneath 
which the weary "Pilgrim Stranger" rests, to drop 
perchance a tear of gratitude and love upon its 
flowery turf. 

We have in our possession a cluster of pressed 
leaves, gathered there by an intimate friend of Har- 



38 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

riet, residing in Pennsylvania, which he kindly sent 
us after perusing our simple Gleanings containing 
her sketch. His letter says, "I have just visited 
Harriet's grave in Germantown. I know she was 
not an angel, but her many virtues far exceeded her 
faults, and in spite of her eccentricities she accom- 
plished much good in the Master's service. I used 
to hear her preach occasionally in my early years." 

Germantown, Pennsylvania, is a pretty, old-fash- 
ioned place and contains a church of the Dunkers, 
and as the cemetery in which Miss Livermore sleeps 
is called the "Bunkers' Cemetery," it is doubtless 
situated near it. 

Says a Philadelphia paper alluding to Miss Liver- 
more's decease, "Her last days were characterized 
by the same traits of character, but she had grown 
more impatient with age ;" and we are led to infer 
that she died from the weight of years rather than 
the direct result of any particular disease. 

In reviewing the history of this singular but re- 
markable woman, let us rather pity than censure ; 
not knowing how far her peculiar disposition was 
inherited, or her many fierce and unsuccessful 
struggles to overcome its violence, suffering as she 



HARRIET LIVERMORE. 39 

did through Hfe from an exceedingly sensitive and 
nervous temperament, which caused her much 
mental and physicial suffering, and doubtless added 
to her eccentricities. Let us hope her restless feet 
have at last entered the Holy Land, and cast over 
her frailties the mantle of Charity, as in the closing 
lines of Whittier's very interesting sketch in the in- 
imitable and beautiful Snow Bound : 

"It is not ours to separate 
The tangled skein of will and fate, 
To show what metes and bounds should stand 
Upon the soul's debatable land, 
And between choice and providence 
Divide the circle of events; 

But he who knows our frame is just, 
Merciful and compassionate, 
And hope for all the language is, 
That He remembereth we are dust!" 



WHITTIER'S COUNTESS. 

Born Jan. 5, 1786. Died Jan. 5, 1807. 



T^HE scenes of Whittier's beautiful poem entitled 
-'- "The Countess," page 334, Diamond Edition, 
commencing with 

"Over the wooded northern ridge," 

were laid in Rock's Village, East Haverhill, on the 
banks of the beautiful Merrimac, where he sings in 
alluding to it 

"The river's steel-blue crescent curves 
To meet in ebb and flow, 
The single broken wharf which serves 
For sloop and gundalow." 

Here, nestled between the hills, in a house known 



WHITTIER S COUNTESS. 4 1 

as the residence of the late Timothy Kennison, M. 
D., dwelt the lovely maiden of whom he speaks in 
verse sixteenth, as 

— "Of all the village band 
Its fairest and its best." 

Miss Mary Ingalls, thus described, is still remem- 
bered by several "white haired villagers" of four- 
score years, as a damsel of uncommon personal 
and mental attractions. She was of medium height, 
had long golden curls, violet eyes, fair complexion, 
rosy cheeks, and so modest and amiable that others 
beside him who afterward became her liege lord, 
looked upon her with interest and admiration. In- 
deed, "none knew her but to love her." She was 
the daughter of Henry and Abigail Ingalls, and was 
born in January 1786. Her maternal grandfather. 
Rev. Payne Wingate, was settled over the Congre- 
gational Church in Merrimac, Mass., for sixty years 
where, by the side of his wife, he quietly reposes in 
the village cemetery. The late centenarian Win- 
gate, father of Rev. Charles Wingate of our city, 
was also a connection. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ingalls had three children, two 



42 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY, 

older than Mary. Her brother died at sea, and her 
sister is still kindly remembered by several pupils 
who attended a school which she taught in her 
father's house. 

Count Frances de Vipart, who married Mary, 
came to Rocks Village a short time previous. He 
fled with a company of exiles from Guadaloupe in 
the time of a French rebellion, "when the blood 
thirsty mob poured out upon the noble families of 
that island the more than brutal passions of the 
wild beasts. Count Frances de Vipart, grandson of 
Marquis de Vipart, and Joseph Rochement de Poy- 
en, with fifteen others, succeeded in getting on 
board a brig bound for Newburyport, and landed 
there in March, 1 792. After the colony had become 
quieted, some returned to Guadaloupe. Nine, how- 
ever, remained, and you will find the graves of these 
noble exiles in an ancient burying ground at New- 
buryport." A piece written with reference to these 
graves may be found in the prose writings of Miss 
Hannah F. Gould, entitled "The Grave under the 
Thorn Tree." 

Joseph Rochemont de Poyen settled also at 
Rocks Village with his cousin Count Frances de 



WHI'lTIER S COUNTESS. 43 

Vipart. The former married Miss Sally Elliott, 
both of whom have passed away, but three of their 
children survive at Merrimac, Mass. 

It seems almost a marvel that these two young 
exiles should find their way to our quiet village as a 
resting place, leaving the beautiful "Eden City," as 
it is called, where they landed, and passing by 
pleasant villages between. But wandering up the 
banks of our charming river for recreation, or per- 
chance upon some "moonlit sail," of which the 
Count was very fond, cheered on by the sweet 
strains of his favorite violin, perhaps they caught 
sight of this picturesque little village nestled among 
the hills. The "Old Bridge," soon after borne up- 
on its ocean trip by force of angry waters, "The 
tavern with its swinging sign," and the beautiful 
scenery on every side, all conduced to form an at- 
traction too strong to be resisted, and they said 
"Here let us tarry for awhile:" 

How little thought these two lone exiles that 
here they should woo and win two of the fairest 
village maids, finding in them "objects of regard, 
and truthful love." 

The advent of the Count, and his marriage to 



44 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

the simple maiden of lowly life, her father being a 
laboring man, together with the circumstances of 
his being of foreign birth, created no little sensa- 
tion in our quiet village, but we do not learn of any 
opposition on the part of her friends. The Count 
is described as a very pleasant man, fine looking 
and stately, referred to as follows in verse twentieth : 

"Yet still in gay and careless ease, 

To harvest, field, or dance, 
He brought the gentle courtesies. 

The nameless grace of France." 

Of their devotion to each other the poet speaks : 

"Each grew to each in sweet accord. 

Nor knew the gazing town; 
If she looked upward to her lord, 

Or he to her looked down." 

Their walks upon "pleasant Newbury shore," and 
his sweet rendition upon the violin during their 
moonlight sails, are pleasantly remembered by those 
who listened to its sweet strains echoing along the 
shore on those summer eves to which the poem re- 
fers. Of the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Vipart 



whii^ier's countess. 45 

which an old record tells us "occurred March 21, 
1805," we have no particulars, excepting a descrip- 
tion of the bridal dress as given by Mrs. R. P., a 
lady of eighty-five, to whom we are much indebted, 
having for a short time the care ot her in her last 
sickness. "The dress was of pink satin, with an 
overdress of white lace, and slippers of white satin," 
all of which must have been quite becoming. 
Though it was the delight of the Count to lavish 
upon his fair bride rich and costly apparel, yet she 
was the same unpretending and modest person, — a 
spirit not always exhibited when suddenly raised to 
wealth or position. 

Their marriage life is remembered as exceeding- 
ly pleasant and happy, though brief. 

"The burial hymn and bridal song, 
Were both in one short year." 

Mrs. Vipart being naturally dehcate, continuous 
care and attention to a sick mother had conduced 
to bring on consumption, which caused her death. 
Percival in describing this insidious disease, says : 

"Oh ! there is sweetness in a woman's decay, 
When the light of beauty is fading away; 



46 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

For a nameless charm around her plays, 
And her eyes are kindled with hallowed rays, 
And a veil of spotless purity 
Has mantled her cheek with its heavenly dye, 
And there are tones which sweetly speak, 
Of a spirit who longs for a purer day, 
And is ready to wing her flight away." 

And those who saw the Countess in her sickness 
attest to the truth of the above. As she sat in her 
sick chair, draped in white musHn, with kistrous eye 
and hectic flush, she seemed to them more Hke a 
being of another sphere than earth. 

Peacefully and happily she passed "out of the 
shadow with the sun," and upon the border of the 
beautiful Merrimac, about a mile from the village, 
she sleeps, yes, sweetly sleeps. 

"Her rest is quiet on the hill, 

Beneath the locusts bloom. 
Far off her lover sleeps as still 

Within his scutcheoned tomb. 

The Gascon lord the village maid 
In death still clasp their hands. 

The love that levels rank and grade 
Unite their severed lands." 



WHiniER'S COUNTESS. 47 

The loss of the Countess was deeply mourned 
by all who knew her, but to the devoted husband it 
was a bitter, bitter grief, and soon after he returned 
to his native Island. Years passed before his sor- 
row for the sweet Bride of the Merrimac was so far 
subdued as to woo and wed another, where, living 
until several years since, he passed away, and was 
interred in the family burial place of the de Viparts 
at Bordeau, who still rank high among the nobility. 
Several children survive him there. 

Whether the sweet poem of "The Countess" has 
ever fallen under their eye we do not know, but we 
doubt not that often in his Island home, the mem- 
ory of the Count reverted to the sweet "Bride of 
the Merrimac," whose "bridal song and burial 
hymn" followed in such quick succession. 

To any who may wish to visit her grave, we add, 
as you pass up from Rocks Village and enter 
Greenwood Cemetery, the eighth headstone upon 
the left in the row which fronts the street, is that of 
the Countess. It is a low, gray stone, considerably 
covered with moss, bearing the following inscrip- 
tion : 



48 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

MARY, 

WIFE OF 

FRANCIS VIPART 

OF GUADALOUPE, 

DIED 

JAN. 5, 1807, 

^T. 21. 

The grave of her mother may be seen next upon 
the right, for whom in earnest devotion through 
long years of suffering, her own Hfe was cheerfully 
given, as it were, in sacrifice. Little thought 
the lovely and modest young Countess, as she 
looked forward in sickness to this pleasant resting 
place upon *'the hill," by the side of her sainted 
mother, that the sweet, sad story of her life would, 
in coming years, be caught up by the poet in song, 
the sweet strains of which would be borne to every 
clime, and her grave visited with increased interest 
as generations passed away. Verily ! "truth is often 
stranger than fiction." 

A beautiful sketch of the grave in water colors 
was taken by G. M. White, an artist of the Merri- 
mac, and presented to Whittier by the ladies of 



whiitier's countess. 49 

Amesbury on his seventieth birthday, which afforded 
him peculiar pleasure, as it hnd never before been 
sketched by pen or pencil. 

The lovely Greenwood in which the Countess 
sleeps has lately been enlarged and fitted up, ren- 
dering it a more attractive place to visitors, and a 
lovely resting place for those who sleep with her 
within its precincts, 

"Beneath 
The locust's flowery plume, 
The birch's pale green scarf." 

It might be well to state here that wealthy citi- 
zens in Gaudaloupe often own residences in France, 
and vice versa, hence the reason for Whittier's styl- 
ing the Count the "Gascon lord," near the close of 
the poem. 

But I fancy you will ask what became of the 
grief-stricken parents of Mrs. Vipart? Not long 
did the invalid mother survive. She died August 
29 of the same year, her death hastened, no doubt, 
by the loss of her devoted child. Her father re- 
moved to Ayers Village, Haverhill, Mass., and was 
again married, there spending in peace and quiet- 



50 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

ness the remainder of his days. We have been 
told that some ot her sister Davidson's descendants 
are still living, but have failed to obtain their locali- 
ty or that of a single relative, which has much in- 
creased the task ot obtaining materials for our 
narrative. Gladly would we have embellished it 
with the Countess' picture could one have been 
found, but probably none are in existence. 

For the benefit of curiosity seekers, we would 
say, the birthplace of the Countess is still in posses- 
sion of a son of the former owner, who purchased 
it of the "village doctor," Elias Weld, to whom 
Whittier dedicated the poem and refers thus : 

"Whose ancient sulkey down the village lanes 
Dragged like a war-car captive ills and pains." 

Reference is also made to Rev. Isaac Tompkins, 
pastor of the Congregational Church, East Haver- 
hill, under whose ministry the Ingalls family sat, 
thus : 

"The parson ambling on his wall-eyed roan, 
Grave and erect, with white hair backward blown." 

The chamber which the Countess occupied is 



WHITTIER S COUNTESS. 5 I 

shown in the original L-part of the house, the east 
window facing the Merrimac River. It is a good 
sized square room, with two "many paned" win- 
dows, and only six feet and one inch in height. As 
the Count is said to have been quite tall and state- 
ly, it was well, perhaps, that he brought with him 
"the nameless grace of France," and was not 
unused to the graceful bow, to which we think he 
must have been subjected on entering the door, at 
least. Among the keepsakes distributed by the 
Count to his friends before leaving, was a pretty 
morocco pocket book of curious design, given to 
the mother of Mrs. Warren Ordway of Bradford, 
Mass., an intimate friend of the Countess. It was 
a gift from the Count to his wife, and is still care- 
fully preserved by Mrs. Ordway. 

A handsome set of imported dining knives and 
forks are in possession of Mrs. Ann I. Chase of 
West Newbury, Mass., measuring twelve inches in 
length and an inch in width at the point of the 
blade, with handsome ivory handles ; and a pretty 
satin damask table cloth is owned by her neice, 
Mrs. Eben Fullonton* of Merrimacport. The arti- 
cles were bought at the Count's auction, are highly 

*Deceased, 1887. 



52 



GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 



prized, and readily shown to any person interested 
in old relics. 

In closing our simple sketch, we would say that, 
having listened from childhood to the touching 
story, we have felt strongly desirous of learning all 
that we could in the history of our honored village 
maid, especially as so many inquiries have been 
made concerning who she was, where she dwelt, 
etc., since Whittier has so sweetly immortalized the 
story of her life in verse, but we will not weary our 
readers with any further particulars of this little 
romance, increasing in interest as the years go by. 



THE OLD GARRISON HOUSE. 



A S reference has been made to this old "Ances- 
-^ tral Home" at East Haverhill, as being the 
birthplace of Moses H. Elliott, whose destiny was 
so closely interwoven with that of the subject of 
our opening sketch, we will give a brief history of 
it, since such antiquities are gradually disappearing, 
rendering them, therefore, objects of greater in- 
terest. 

The original part, of which not all remains, was 
built in colonial days, by two Peaslee brothers from 
England, whose names were Joseph and Nathaniel. 
The date of building we do not certainly know, but 
Joseph Peaslee was a resident of Haverhill as early 
as 1645, ^^d of Sahsbury in 1638. They also built 
the garrison house owned by Nathan Sawyer (torn 



54 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

down several months ago). It stood about two 
miles from Haverhill Bridge. The bricks of the 
East Haverhill garrison house were brought from 
their native land. 

As the lower story of the Garrison House, East 
Haverhill, embraced but one apartment, the large 
quarterly meetings of Friends in those days "were 
amply convened within its walls." 

Whittier tells us that one of his ancestors, Joseph 
Whittier, son of Thomas, was married May 24, 
1694, to Mary, daughter of Joseph Peaslee, who 
lived in the Old Garrison House near Rocks Bridge. 

"In this alliance with a well known Quaker, we 
recognize one of the influences which led the 
Whittiers to the new communion." In Chase's 
History of Haverhill is recorded that, "in 1689 
Joseph Peaslee moved in town meeting that him- 
self and others might be allowed to meet at the 
new meeting house for their way of worship. It 
was read, and refused to be voted upon." 

More than a century and a half have passed 
since the Old Garrison House was purchased of the 
Peaslee brothers by Ephriam Elliott, senior, but 
with the decease of a grandson a few years since, 



THE OLD GARRISON HOUSE. 5 

terminated the third and last ownership in succes- 
sion, and it is now in possession of a gentleman 
bearing no relationship to the former occupants. 

It is well adapted to the use for which it was 
built, with its small port holes, dark cellar with 
various narrow windings to little rooms, supposed to 
be places of concealment from the Red Man, its old 
"oaken door," durabillity and strength of material, 
and is likely to remain for many years to come. 

How full of historic interest is this venerable "old 
mansion !" Could its walls speak, they would tell 
of scenes that "tried men's souls," of happy family 
festivities, of "burial hymn and bridal song," to 
which it has so often given place. 

A volume would hardly contain the many and 
varied incidents of success and defeat in the lives 
of those who have dwelt within its walls, but wearied 
with the "march of life," have laid them down to 
rest. 

Here, beneath its moss-grown roof, in the year 
1789, Florida's lone exile, Moses H. Elliott, first 
saw the light, being gladly welcomed by fond 
parents as the eldest born. Amiable and gentle in 
disposition, he developed into the studious, thought- 



56 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

ful boy, thirsting deeply for knowledge, so that every 
effort was made by the parents that a liberal educa- 
tion should be given him. He was a classmate of 
Drs. Longley and Kittredge of this city, and Rob- 
inson of West Newbury. Fond hopes centered in 
him, especially as he came to manhood, the parents 
looking forward, no doubt, to the years when they 
should lean upon his stronger arm for solace. But 
a singular train of events led him far from home 
and kindred, never to look upon the dear face 
again — a stroke to these aged parents especially, 
which proved well-nigh unbearable. 

Who may tell in that far-off home how often his 
thoughts came back to the "old homestead," and 
scenes of other days, when playing with his brothers 
and sisters, or perchance in later years when stirred 
in spirit by ''Love's young dream," he wandered 
abroad with the queenly and fascinating Harriet 
Livermore over the hills, or in the ample fields sur- 
rounding the "Old Mansion," or sat in front beneath 
the shade of those giant elms, one of which is no 
longer standing, whispering in her ear, it may be, 
the tale 

"That is told by moonlight alone." 



THE OLD GARRISON HOUSE. 57 

How little thought those fond lovers that their 
life paths would thus diverge, causing one, and who 
knows but both, to sigh at no distant day, like 
Whittier's Maud Muller, and say, 

"It might have been." 
Well is it that ^'Heaven from all creatures hides the 
book of fate." 

Many are the objects of interest clustering in and 
around this picturesque old dwelling, and the num- 
ber of visitors increase yearly. Already has it 
been sketched by popular artists, that it may be 
thus represented when age and decay have done 
their work, and over its scattered ruins 

Ivies creep and mosses cling. 



VISIT TO WHITTIER'S 
BIRTHPLACE. 



'^rVVAS in the flowery month of June, 1881, in 
^ company with an old schoolmate of the poet 
and several other friends, we visited, by permission 
of the kind hostess, the "old homestead," East 
Haverhill, for the purpose of rambling over its 
grounds and seeing somewhat of the interior of the 
house, especially the "old kitchen," so noted in 
Snow Bound. 

Coming down the street which leads into the 
main road, we saw upon the left the walnut trees 
supposed to be referred to in "My Playmate," from 
which into 

"her homespun lap, 
I shook the walnuts down." 



VISIT TO WHITTIER'S BIRTHPLACE. 59 

Entering a field at the right, we came to a fine 
grassy knoll, with two trees at its entrance, enclosed 
on three sides by a stone wall, which was formerly 
the old family burying-ground, and were shown the 
spot where once rested the poet's grandparents, 
his father, aunt Polly and uncle Moses, all of whom 
were re-interred a few years since in the Friends' 
Cemetery at Amesbury, and now sleep side by side 
with his sainted mother and sister Elizabeth, who 
have since passed "over the river." There came a 
sacredness to the place as we thought of the differ- 
ent occasions when two by two the mourning group 
followed slowly up the hill the dear lifeless form 
which was borne by loving neighbors upon the 
mournful bier, and as often returned in sadness to 
their home. 

Often had it been visited by loving ones to shed 
fresh tears, and sprinkle upon each grave spring's 
earliest flowers as love's tribute. Carefully has the 
little enclosure been guarded, it being the poet's 
wish that it should remain unchanged. 

On approaching the gate, we saw upon the left 
four maple trees, set there some eighteen years 
since in place of the ancient sycamores, which bid 



6o GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

fair to become very stately. On the left of the gate 
is a large block of stone some three feet high, with 
two lesser ones at the base in the form of steps to 
mount it, being used in the days of pillions to 
mount a saddled horse. It is indeed an interesting 
old relic, especially as connected with the "bridle- 
post" of Snow Bound, described thus : 

"The bridle-post an old man sat, 

With loose -flung coat and high cocked hat." 

As we }:)assed into the house at the front door, 
we noticed its ancient and well-worn stone ; and 
entering the room at the right, were told it was for- 
merly the poet's study, where doubtless originated 
many of his earlier productions. We next visited 
the front room upon the left, where the poet was 
born, and in which our friend informed us he saw 
his father and uncle Moses die. The death of the 
latter resulted from the falling of a tree which he 
was cutting down. Reference to this uncle is made 
in Snow Bound. Little thought the fond parents 
as they heard the poet's infant cry that his songs 
would yet be welcomed to every clime, stirring at 



VISIT TO WHITTIER S BIRTHPLACE. 6 1 

times the heart of the nation in the cause of right 
and truth. 

Entering the ''old kitchen" back of these rooms, 
we saw the "old fire-place" with its "hanging crane," 
and the mantel-piece which is ten feet long. The 
fire place has been somewhat lessened in width, and 
the "old oven" is supported by brick work, instead 
of its former "wooden leg," to which Whittier refers 
in his recent description. 

Above the mantel is seen the large durable nail, 
(supposed to be the work of some of Whittier's 
ancestors,) where hung the "old bull's eye" spoken 
of in Snow Bound as 

"Pointing with its warning sign, 
Its black hand to the hour of nine." 

A small cupboard seen above the mantel is said 
to be the place where uncle Moses referred to, "laid 
his pipe tenderly away," after having "ceased to 
smoke." Nearly opposite the fire-place is the old 
cupboard, where were ranged its pewter plates and 
platters, and upon the right a circle worn by the 
"old brass warming-pan, which formerly shone like 
a setting moon against the wall of the kitchen." 



62 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

In one corner we saw the spot where the writing 
desk used to stand, and hard by from the window, 
the site of the *'bare boughed Hlac tree," no longer 
standing. Opposite the fire-place is seen where 

"Through the glass, the clothes hne posts 
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts." 

Vestiges of the old gable roof still remain at the 
back part of the kitchen, where it united with the 
second story, built when the poet's father brought 
home his Quaker bride. The house was built in 
1 716,* and with this exception has undergone but 
very little change, save a temporary partition which 
divides the old kitchen into two rooms. 

As we looked about the "old kitchen," we could 
almost see the scenes of Snow Bound again re- 
enacted, 

"Hear the sharp crackle, catch the gleam" 

from the fire on the old clean-winged hearth. We 
saw in fancy the interesting household. The father, 

"Who sat down again to moose and samp," 
the now sainted mother, the "uncle innocent of 

*Whittier thinks it was built in 1688. 



VISIT TO WHirriER'S BIRTHPLACE. 63 

books," next the dear maiden aunt, then the elder 
sister, and the 

"Youngest and dearest who sat 
Upon the motley braided mat." 

Next we see the "brisk wielder of the birch and 
rule," and lastly "Miss Harriet Livermore with her 
flashing eyes." But we must not omit John and 
Mathew, dressed in Friend's garb with the rest 
(excepting the "guest and schoolmaster"), eager 
listeners we may well imagine. Referring to that 
eve the poet says, 

"Ah ! brother — only I and thou 
Are left of all that circle now." 

We next visited the little chamber which the 
poet occupied in his youth. The room has two 
small, many paned windows, and the time stained 
rafters are plainly seen. It is situated over the 
west room, or parlor, where the poet says, on 
stormy nights, 

"We heard the loosened clapboards tost 
The board-nails snapping in the frost; 
And on us, through the unplastered wall 
Felt the light sifted snowflakes fall." 



64 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Descending again to the kitchen, we take leave 
of the courteous inmates, and going to the barn, 
we can seem to see the "prisoned brutes within," 
as on the morning when the father said 



where 



an 



d 



"Boys, a path !" 



"The old horse thrust his long head out, 
The cock his lusty greeting said," 



'The oxen lashed their tails and hooked," 



while 



"The horned patriarch of the sheep. 
Shook his wise head with gesture mute," 

and seeing where each were kept, could better 
understand the fine allusion to them in the poem. 
The old barn was raised and lengthened somewhat 
several years since. Much care is taken by the 
present owner, Mr. George Elliott of Haverhill, 
Mass., that the homestead and surroundings be 
neatly and carefully kept. 



VISIT TO WHITTIER'S BIRTHPLACE. 65 

Going down to the brook where the "bare-foot 
boy" wandered in childhood, we enjoyed for awhile 
its cool retreat, and crossed the large ''stepping 
stones" to the other side, listening to its soft ripple 
as it flowed over the moss grown stones, to which 
the poet thus refers : 

"Laughed the brook for my delight, 
Through the day and through the night." 



Tracing it up some distance, we were told that 
long years ago a saw and grist mill was built over 
the stream, of which no vestige remains. It is a 
charming spot, overhung by branches of lovely 
trees, forming a most delightful shade, while ferns, 
mosses, and wild flowers grow upon its banks. A 
place in which methinks the Muses would love to 
Hnger and inspire to lofty measures, and we did not 
so much wonder the "Barefoot Boy" became a 
poet, singing so sweetly of brook, lake and river, or 
loved the "Valley Song." 

Gathering some mosses from the old "stepping 
stones" and ferns from the brook, we returned by 
the Whittier Elm (as it is placarded), the tree to 



66 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

which he refers in writing in an album of his old 
schoolmate's daughter, commencing thus : 

"Thou dweller in the ample shade, 
Of the old elm tree where I played." 

The schoolmate's house stands directly opposite 
the elm. 

This is a fine old tree, spared by a former owner 
for several years by the payment of a certain sum 
yearly by the schoolmate who accompanied us, as 
he could not bear to see this beautiful tree upon 
his old friend's homestead fall beneath the "wood- 
man's axe." Thus ended our very pleasant visit to 
this noted birthplace, giving to "Snowbound" a new 
interest, if possible, and a greater reverence for our 
townsman poet, and the beautiful songs he has sung 
along the valley of the Merrimac. 



WHITTIER. 



Lines read at a Whittier Entertainment in East Haverhil 
November lo, 1880, and published by request. 

Sweet bard of Pentucket !* 

Thy praises we sing ; 
To thy many bright laurels 

One flower we'd bring, 

To crown thee and bless thee 
For thy sweet breathing strains 

Floating eastward and westward, 
O'er earth's wide domains. 

In homes of the lowly, 

How sweetly they fall ; 
For bridal and burial ; 

How welcome for all. 

*Indian name of Haverhill. 



68 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

For thy brother enthralled, 
Thy prayer has been heard, 

And thy loud cries for freedom 
A nation has stirred. 

Oh, how doth thy pages 
Of "Snow Bound" allure, 

When the cold storms of winter 
Beat hard 'gainst our door ! 

And all of thy poems, 

So noble and sweet. 
Without them our libraries 

Would not seem complete. 

Thrice-honored Pentucket ! 

Which gave to thee birth. 
And reared such a poet 

Of genius and worth. 

May thy life be prolonged 
To sing on and bless. 

Till from toiling comes harvest, — 
Then sing 'mong the blest. 



3^xx'd Jwo. 



TO PUPILS OF OTHER DAYS 

THESE 

SIMPLE POEMS 

ARE VERY GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. 



Loved pupils of the ''olden days" — 
How gladly would I greet you all 

With the warm clasp, sit by your side, 
And scenes of school-day life recall. 

It cannot be ; — so let me greet 

You, through these many simple lays, 

Be each a link within the chain. 
Connecting us with other days. 

Perchance their reading may bring back 
The memory of your school-day life, — 

Of one who hopes to meet you all. 

When ends life's toil, and ceased its strife. 

East Haverhill, September, 1881. 



POEMS. 



I LOVE THE SEA. 

I love the sea ! the sounding sea ! 
What varied songs it sings to me, 
As standing on its pebbly shore, 
I hear the distant waters roar. 

I love the sea ! the sounding sea ! 
It sings His power and majesty. 
Who to those restless waves hath said : 
"E'en here shall thy proud waves be stayed. 

It sings of loved ones far away, 
Now gliding home o'er silvery spray, 
Whose hearts with expectation yearn ; 
But some perchance may ne'er return ! 



POEMS. 73 

Or, if returned, some loved ones here, 
They find have flown to happier sphere ; 
And ever more those broken ties 
Throw back a shadow o'er their Hves. 

It sings of storms, — it sings of wrecks, — 
Its coral beds with dead are flecked. 
Genius and talent 'neath thy waves. 
Here too have made their lonely graves. 

Loud requiems I seem to hear. 
In memory of sleepers dear, — 
And though so sad, some wish to be 
Buried beneath the sounding sea. 

What disappointments it hath brought, — 
When gold and gems from far were sought, 
Jewels befitting princely crown ; 
But in a moment all went down. 

Where mermaids sing, and sea-flowers grow, 
They sparkle on the beds below. 
Why not give back, O sounding sea. 
The dead and treasures hid in thee? 



74 (;leanin(;s from merrimac valley. 

Nay ! nay ! thy greedy soul asks more ! 
I hear it when the wild winds roar, 
And stormy waves leap mountain high, — 
I feel new wrecks will 'neath them lie. 

But not for aye, thy dead shall be 
Buried in such obscurity ; 
For He who formed the waves hath said, 
He'll call the sea to yield its dead. 

Roll on, roll on, O sounding sea ! 
Until complete thy mission be. 
And may frail man by thee be taught, 
Thus faithfully, to act life's part. 



NOT TO DIE. 



'To live in hearts we leave behind 
Is not to die." 



Say, pilgrim on life's desert waste, 
When laid thine earthly armor by, 

Wouldst thou not live in loving hearts ? 
For to live thus "is not to die." 



FOEMS. 75 

Though form may change and turn to dust, 

And hidden be from mortal ken, 
Yet kindly deeds and acts of love 

Will be remembered even then. 

Speak kindly words to sorrowing hearts, 
And seek to dry the mourner's tear ; 

Reclaim the wretched and the lost, 
And strive to make all happier. 

Such deeds will make thee happy here, 

And rear more lasting monument 
Than "storied urn or deeds of fame," 

When thy short fleeting life is spent. 

To have our memories enshrined 
In kindly hearts when cold we lie, 

For some kind friendly deed performed ; 
Ah ! surely this "is not to die." 



76 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

I LOVE THE WOODS. 

I love the woods, when morning dawns, 
And drops of dew are on the lawns, 
When nestled softly 'mid the trees. 
Sweet birds send forth their minstrelsies. 

I love the woods at noontide hour. 
When drooping seems each bud and flower ; 
And e'en the pulse of nature wanes. 
For scorching sands are on the plains. 

I love the woods, when sunset comes, 
And flowers send forth their sweet perfumes, 
While floods of light athwart the sky, 
Gleam forth, as dies the weary day. 

I love the woods, in autumn days. 
When every leaf speaks forth decay ; 
Lessons of wisdom there we learn, 
Whichever way our eyes may turn. 

Temples of Nature ! in which we 
Alone may worship Deity ; 



POEMS. 77 



Communing with our hearts the while 
Away from aught that would beguile. 

Fit emblems of that temple high, 
Built far above the starry sky. 
Such grandeur earth hath never seen, 
Nor shall we, till we enter in. 



AMBITION. 

"Let me rest, my brain is weary." 

"Let me rest, my brain is weary !" 

Cried the youth with fever wild ; 
"Let me rest, O gentle mother, 

On thy bosom as a child." 
Fired his soul with high ambition, 

He would win himself a name ; 
He would scale the heights of Knowledge, 

Reach the pinnacle of Fame. 



78 (CLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

By the dimly lighted taper 

Sat he, till the midnight hour, 
Drinking in fresh draughts of knowledge, 

Ranging fields of "classic lore." 
Now, with frame all worn and weary. 

He has laid him dov/n to die. 
"Let me rest," the prayer's soon answered, 

And his spirit mounts the sky. 



Passing strange that such bright visions 

Should so quickly fade away ; 
Ye, who're worshiping Ambition 

Heed the lesson taught, we pray. 
Bow not at its shrine too fondly. 

If Fame's won, 'tis but a breath ; 
'Twill not yield thee lasting pleasure. 

Neither stay the hand of death. 



Come to founts of heavenly knowledge,- 

Satisfy your longings there ; 
Then in heav'n's broad fields Elysian 

Thou the laurel wreath shall wear. 
On thy brow it ne'er shall wither, 



POEMS. 79 



But in fadeless beauty bloom ; 
Draughts of isdom quaffing ever, 
Fields of glory thou shalt roam. 



LINES. 



Read in Greenwood Cemetery, East Haverhill, Memorial 
Day, 1874. 

Strew flowers ! bright flowers ! 

O'er the graves of the dead ; 
Twine garlands — fresh garlands — 

Where the soldiers are laid. 

All sweeter they'll slumber, 

Midst beauty and bloom ; 
Each flower a vigil, 

Keeping watch o'er their tomb. 

Then strew ye bright flowers, 

This Memorial Day ; 
Mingling with them our tears. 

Where the heroes do lay. 



8o GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Yes heroes ! brave heroes ! 

Fathers, brothers, so dear, 
Ye've gained us our freedom, 

But ye are not here ! 

Yes ! freedom from slav'ry, 
That deep curse and wrong, 

Which is only remembered 
In story and song. 

The mem'ry of Lincoln, 

How it comes back to-day ! 

God helped him to wipe 
This great evil away. 

He fought not with saber, 
Or with musket, or shell, 

But fell in the struggle, 
A brave martyr as well ! 

Oh, peace to his ashes ! 

Be his name in our lay ! 
With that brave fallen host 

We will sing of to-day. 



POEMS. 8 1 

Let Rome boast her heroes, 

And proud Sparta of old ; 
But history of braver, 

No pages have told, 

Than those dear ones sleeping, 
Far beneath the green sward, 

From Maine to Pacific, 
Their bravery we'll land I 

We'll tell to our children 

The brave deeds they have done, 
Of their hardships endured. 

The bright laurels they won. 

And on historic page, 

Clad in brilliant array, 
Their memories will live, 

When we've all passed away ! 

Then strew ye bright flowers 
On each loved soldier's grave ; 

Yes ! plant ye bright laurels. 
In their beauty to wave. 



82 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

All sweeter they'll slumber 
In the dark silent tomb ; 

Lulled to sleep by soft zephyrs, 
Of flowery perfume ! 



BRIDAL HYMN FOR A PUPIL. 

Crown, O crown the bride with flowers. 
Pluck the rose and lily fair ; 

Seek ye 'mid the fairest bowers, 
Orange blossoms for her hair ! 

Youth upon her brow is smiling. 
And her heart is light and free. 

Beating high with expectation, 
Of bright days she hopes to see. 

Now before the altar kneeling, 

Sealed on earth the marriage vow ; 

Quickly borne to Heaven's record, 
Lo ! the angel writes it now. 



POEMS. 83 



May those vows so pure and sacred, 
Bind forever heart to heart ; 

In such lasting, blest communion, 
As stern death alone shall part. 

And when earthly scenes have faded, 

May they re-unite above. 
Where fond ties are never severed. 

In that Home of peace and love ! 



THE BEAUTIFUL GATE. 

There's a beautiful gate just "over the river," 
Which gleams in the distance with the brightness 
of gold ; 
And though, since creation, it has swung on its 
hinges, 
Like the structures of earth, it can never grow old. 

At its entrance a Porter stands ready to open. 
And welcome each pilgrim, who the river hath 
crossed ; 



84 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Ah, look : and behold them — with its fierce waves 
contending, — 
But never a child in the fierce struggle's lost ! 



All dripping they come ft"om the dark surging waters, 
To exchange their soiled garments for robes of 
pure white ; 
While crowns far more dazzling than earth's brightest 
jewels 
Will bedeck their fair brows in the regions of 
Light ! 

Now the Porter doth open and such mazes of glory 
As burst on their vision, no mortal hath seen, 

While groups of bright spirits, on verdant banks 
straying, 
Are pond'ring the themes of ''redemption," I 



Down Heaven's corridors, sweet music comes float- 
ing 
Far sweeter than zephyrs, which evening doth 
bring, 



POEMS. 85 

While the high and the low, earth's pauper — bright 
angel — 
Unite in ascriptions of praise to the King ! 

This beautiful gate, let us each strive to enter, 
When we, like those pilgrims, death's river shall 
cross, 

And never forget, that to purchase an entrance, 
The blood of our blessed "Redeemer" it cost. 



LINES 



Written for Temperance Reform Club at Merrimac, July, 
1878. 



'Twas noonday in the crowded mart, 
The sun was shining bright ; 

And crowds were hast'ning to and fro. 
When lo ! a sick'ning sight. 

Enough to make an angel weep, 
If such a thing there be, — 

To say the least, the question solve, 
Of man's depravity ! 



86 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Within the gutter lying low, 

A drunken man was seen, 
Whose very looks betokened, that 

A nobler man he'd been. 

A lovely girl, some six years old, 

With curly, golden hair, 
Was kneeling by the wretched man. 

Now list ! her earnest prayer. 

"Come, father, come, let us go home." 

He heeded not her cry ; 
And striving hard to raise him up, 

Her little hands did try. 

Wearied, the tears fell down her cheeks, 

But still she lingered there, 
Hoping her father would awake. 

And heed her earnest prayer. 

The passers-by looked on amazed. 
Such sight they'd seldom seen ; 

And in their "heart of hearts" they asked, 
They ne'er might see again. 



POEMS. 

But heeding not her cry, at length, 

She started for her home, 
Saying, "Mamma, papa's asleep, 

I cannot make him come." 

The mother brushed away her tears, 
And said, "Don't weep, my child ; 

Your dear papa will waken soon," 
And then the prattler smiled. 

Sweet child ! oh, may'st thou never know 

The bitter curse of rum ! 
But yet may thy dear father prove 

A blessing in his home ! 

Oh, sweet child-faith ! in mercy given. 
Lest thy young heart should break ; 

So may we trust our God in heaven, 
'Twill less life's burdens make. 



S8 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

ALONE WITH CxOD ! 

Alone with God I 

'Tis sweet to feel 

That He is near, 

When low we kneel, 
And breathe into his gracious ear 
Our every grief, our every fear. 

Alone with God I 
How sweet the hour. 
When all unseen, 
He sends the power 
Of his blest Spirit from above, 
And fills our hearts with heavenly love. 

Alone with God I 
When sins oppress. 
And feehng deep. 
Our need of grace, 
To help us on the heavenly road, 
E'en to the "city of our God." 

Alone with God ! 
When on our souls, 



POEMS. 89 

Oft heavily, 

A burden rolls, 
For some poor captive soul in sin, 
That through Christ's blood he "be made clean." 

Alone with God ! 

There is no grief 

But we may gain 

A sweet relief. 
If we on him our burdens roll ; 
He'll fill with joy the fainting soul. 

Alone with God ! 

Oft may we be, 

Till we in heaven 

His face shall see. 
And then with all the ransomed throng, 
Our prayers be turned to praise and song. 



90 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

FIDELITY. 

Suggested by the sadness of a friend on the Anniversary 
of the death of a sainted companion. 

My heart is sad and lone, my love ! 

Thinking of thee to-day, 
For 'tis many years to-day, love, 

Since thou wert called away, 

To dwell in thy bright "angel home," 

That ''Summer Land of Song," 
Where music floats on every breeze, 

And its sweet strains prolong. 

'Twas in the very heat of noon. 

Thou wither'd at my side ; 
Leaving me 'lone to breast life's waves, 

To stem the heaving tide. 

And when the storm has fiercely raged, 

And dark has been the night. 
The clouds have rift, and lo ! a star 

Has burst upon my sight. 



POEMS. 91 

That star's thy love, it ne'er hath waned, 

Through all these weary years ; 
My guide, my talisman it's been 

Through this dark vale of tears. 

And from thy happy home above, 

Methinks thou look'st to-day, 
And knowest all that doth befall 

Me on life's rugged way. 

I have been true to thee, my love, 
Through all the years now flown ; 

No other one has shared that love, 
It has been thine alone. 

And oh ! how often in my dreams. 

Thou come'st unto me ; 
Thy fairy hand upon my brow 

Thrills me with ecstasy. 

I hear thee whisper soft and low, 

As kneeling at my side, 
Thy breathings soft as angels are, 

Then quickly from me glide. 



92 GLEANINGS FROM xMERRIMAC VALLEY. 

When a few more years have flown away, 

I hope to come to thee, 
And wilt thou not from thy bright home, 

Be first to welcome me ? 



This thought shall smooth my lonely way, 

It will not seem so long, 
For well I know thou'lt teach to me, 

Thine own sweet angel song. 

And clasping thy dear hand, my love, 

We'll dwell forever more, 
'Mid scenes of Light, where shadows ne'er 

Becloud the vision o'er. 



LINES 



Written with reference to the attempted assassination of 
President Garfield, and the day set apart by the Governor of 
Massachusetts to pray for his recovery, viz : September 8, 
1881. 



POEMS. 93 

Our nation's in mourning, — its chieftain laid low ; 
'Twas the hand of assassin that dealt out the blow, 
Which though aimed at his life, our God inter- 
posed — 
We must wait for th' issue which He only knows. 

'Tis well, in city, village, hamlet, to-day, 
Our people should pause from Hfe's duties to pray 
That the Great All Father, His mercy will show, 
And raise up our ruler, by suffering, so low. 

A God-given ruler ! — so noble and true, — 
We are loth to believe that his life-work is through. 
His counsels we need, yea, his labors and prayers ; 
We pray kindly Heaven, his life long to spare 1 



CHILDHOOD. 

Merry, happy childhood ! 

With thy wiiming ways, 
Dancing in the sunshine, 

Through the hve-long day, 



94 (iLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY 

Chasing every shadow 

Which thou chance to meet ; 

Never quite discouraged, — 
Urging eager feet. 

If o'er ''rough sod" stumbling, 

And a tear let fall, 
Quickly it's brushed away, 

And forgotten all. 

In thy castle building, 

In thine airy dreams. 
Dipped in rainbow colors, 

All thy future seems. 

Merry ! magic ! childhood ! 

Bound by fairy spell ; 
"Ignorance is bliss" to thee — 

Soon, thou'lt know full well 

That thy castle building 
Was an empty dream ; 

Thy bright pictures, shadows, 
Life not what it seems. 



POEMS. 95 



Then may strength be giv'n 
To look beyond the stars ; 

To those enduring mansions, 
Walled in by sunset bars! 

And thoughts of happy entrance, 
When e'er life's work is done, 

Help thee to breast its billows 
Until the race is run ! 



TO MR. AND MRS. J. P. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

They tell us our Thurman is dead, 
Our darling, our own precious boy ; 

No more shall we see him in life 
Sporting gaily with marble or toy. 

But oh, no ! our darling's not dead, — 
His spirit has burst its earth-bars, 

And soared to blest regions of Light, 
Far above yon bright glittering stars. 



96 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Yet Still it seems near and around, 
His childish voice often we hear ; 

So like the sweet tones of the past, 
Calling parents and sister so dear. 

On our lips we feel his warm kiss, 
Bless God for his dear presence still ! 

'Twill help so to lighten our grief, 

While we bow to the dear Master's will. 

Two Angel ones now are above, — 
Not dead 1 only gone on before, 

To greet us when we too shall tread. 
The blest shores of the glad "Evermore. 

October 25, 1880. 



THE OUTCAST. 

Suggested by hearing a popular lecturer relate the follow 
ing incident, a short time since. 

"Forgive me, dear mother 1 

And, oh ! let me come home, — 



POEMS. 97 



For a penitent wand'rer, 
This evening I come." 

All shivering and cold, 

At the door stone she stood, 

With her face half conceal'd 
'Neath the old faded hood. 

"Forgive me, dear mother ! 

And oh ! let me come in, 
I'm weary, so weary, 

Of the dark paths of sin." 

She waited an answer. 
Her whole being shook. 

With hoping and fearing : 
O, how eager her look ! 

The mother, so haughty, 

Very harshly replied, 
*T cannot forgive you, — 

Away with you, my child." 

Like crash of an earthquake, 
Like the whirlwind, she heard, 



98 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

This answer so wrathful, 
With no comforting word. 

"I am lost ! I am lost ! 

Both to God and to man, 
If mother forgives not, 

Surely God never can." 

She sank down exhausted. 
For her heart it was broke — 

How little that mother 
Thought, her cruel words spoke ! 

Taken up by watchmen, 

For a home of reform, 
They bore her meanwhile, 

Thro' the pitiless storm. 

The dwelling was reached, 

But the spirit had fled. 
And the poor wandering child 

Was asleep with the dead 1 

Eager searching was made, 
The proud mother was found ; 



POEMS. 99 

And so deep her remorse 

That her grief knew no bounds ! 

All tenderly buried 

She, her lov'd one from sight, 
Bemoaning so deeply, 

Her cold harsh words that night. 

Oh ! could she recall them, 

Aye ! what wealth would she give ; 

But no, they would haunt her, 
Until ceasing to live. 

Beware, then ye parents. 

Lest your hearts be grief riven ; 

And forgive ye th' erring, 
As you'd be forgiven. 



HYMN OF WELCOME. 

Written for the Semi-Centennial of the Baptist Church 
East Haverhill, January 3, 1872. 



lOO GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Thrice welcome to our Jubilee ! 

Each heart re-echoes come ! 
Ye "Sons and Daughters from afar, 

We bid you "Welcome home !" 

Yes, welcome to our dear "Old Church," 

Our praises and our songs ; 
Help us to chant the sweet refrain, 

And its soft strains prolong. 

Praise ! — praise ! praise to Him who hath preserved 

Our church through fifty years, — 
Oft raised in expectations bright, 

Then bowed in grief and tears. 

But ne'er a cloud so dark, but what 

The light came rifting through, 
And with fresh courage for the strife, 

They urged their way anew. 

We trust they have not toiled in vain. 

For God hath deigned to bless. 
And scores of souls been "gathered in," 

By His "redeeming grace." 



POEMS. lOI 

Yes, faithful watchmen here have stood, 

Four whom have passed away, — 
And from the battlements of Heaven, 

Look they not on to-day ? 

With many other faithful ones, 

Who laid life's burden down, 
Their voices hear, their forms we see, 

Though wearing heavenly crowns. 

Their memories like incense sweet, 

Breathe out upon the air ; 
A sweet perfume, nor can we e'er 

Forget their fervent prayers. 

Those prayers have brought rich blessings down, 

And we have lived to see. 
This day of glad memorial. 

Fraught with prosperity. 

In deep humility we bow, — 

Our Father ! and our Friend ! 
As Thou hast led us hitherto, 

So guide us to the end ! 



02 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

"CALL ME DARLING, PAPA." 

The shades of evening were gath'ring, 
Slowly darkening hill top and dale ; 

Night's vespers solemnly rising, 
As incense from hamlet and vale. 

When a father, sad and lonely, 
Sat down in his darkened home, 

Its light had suddenly faded, — 
That mother was laid in the tomb ! 

While musing in grief and sadness, 
A childish voice fell on his ear, 

Saying, so earnest and touching, 
"Call me darling ! O papa dear." 

He had scarcely seen four summers, 
That mild-eyed affectionate boy, 

Strange ! mamma should go and leave him, 
When he gave to her so much joy ! 

How deeply his heart was yearning, 
To be loved and petted again ; 

He longed for mamma's loving kiss, — 
To be called by his sweet pet-name. 



POEMS. 103 

The father woke from his dreaming, 
And he pressed to his heart his boy ; 

His soul was stirred with emotion — 
Emotions of grief and of joy. 

Yes ! yes ! I will call thee darling ; 

My precious, my own darling one, — 
Will strive to take the place of her. 

Who has left us so sad and lone. 

And the weight of sorrow lightened. 
As he thought of his children dear ; 

And that dreary home was brightened. 
For he stayed the swift falling tear. 

He felt that he had a mission, 

That the mother beckoned him on, 

He must make happy his lov'd ones, 
As she always in life had done. 

And he prayed that God would help him, 
To guide their feet to that "blest shore," 

And gathered there in her embrace, 
A loving band to part no more ! 



I04 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

TEMPERANCE HYMN. 

We publish this month a beautiful Temperance Hymn, 
from the pen of Viola Glenwood,* the sentiment of which 
will find a place in the heart of every true Son of Temper- 
ance. — Temperance Roll Call. 

San Francisco, Cal., 1874. 

Speed thee on, the cause of Temperance, — 
Raise the Temperance Banner high ! 

Let it float o'er every nation, 
Towering even to the sky ! 

Success to every Temperance Club ! 

May we thus increase our strength, 
And the hydra-headed monster 

Driven from our midst at length. 

Then shall wretched wives and children 

Bless thee till their latest day ; 
If thou haste to rescue loved ones, 

Who are wandering far astray ! 

Then speed on the cause of Temperance — 
Raise the Temperance Banner high, 

Till it floats o'er every nation — 
Towering even to the sky ! 

*Former signature. 



POEMS. 105 

LINES. 

" 'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour, 
I've seen my fondest hopes decay — 

I never loved a tree or flower, 
But 'twas the first to fade away." 

In childhood's years I watched a cloud 

Float o'er the bosom of the sky, 
Sailing along in beauty proud, 

Upon a bright and summer's day. 
On — on — 'twas borne, and farther, till 

It vanished like a speck from view ; 
I turned away in childish grief, 

To bid my golden cloud adieu ! 

And then I sat me 'mid the flowers 

I'd planted in a cherished nook, 
And listened there for many an hour. 

To warbling birds and babbling brook. 
One tender rose-bud was my pride — 

I watched to see its leaves unfold ; 
Nor could this flow'ret been more dear, 

Though yielding petals purest gold ! 



I06 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Paint, if you can, my childish grief, 

When wand 'ring forth at early morn, 
Wither'd, I saw my cherished flower, — 

Just as the rose had fully blown. 
And then I loved a school-mate dear, 

A little angel kindly given 
To share my childish joys and griefs, 

But quick she vanished up to Heav'n. 

She bade me not to "weep for her, 

That both ere long would angels be, 
And side by side in Heav'n we'd walk, 

In robes of white and purity." 
Years have rolled on — and lovely flowers, 

And cherished friends have cheer'd my way, 
But "I've e'er found what I prized most, 

Has been the first to fade away." 

And now all weary I've become, 

Of leaning upon earthly joys, 
Joys which are naught, compared with Heaven, 

Unmixed with aught of earth's alloy. 
And may I one day enter there, 

Where glorious clouds ne'er fade away, — 



POEMS. 107 

Where loving friends and cherished flowers 
Fade not, or wither in a day. 



NEW YEAR— 1873. 

The old year has faded and vanished away, — 
With brow sadly wrinkled and locks that are gray. 

Its hopes and its fears and its pleasures have fled, 
And now it is resting with those that have sped ! 

The cold chilling winds now its requiem sing, 

No more will it waken with the soft breath of 
spring.— 

For the New Year comes dancing along in its track, 
And lo ! in the distance, is driving it back ! 

Thrice welcome ! New Year ! with thy bright smil- 
ing mien. 
With wintry gems sparkling thy drapery gleams. 
The cold winds are sporting thy long flowing hair, 
While frost-work and ice-pearls are glittering 
there. 



lOg GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Thy hands are bearing a mysterious scroll, 

Whose contents unfoldeth as each day unrolls ; 

Each forms a record which forever shall stand, 
In colors all glowing from an infinite hand. 

'Tis naught, we beseech thee, our future to tell, 
We must leave it to Him who knoweth full well, 

Whether shadow or sunshine fall on our way, 
Or whether we live till the year's passed away. 

To see thee again, when thy beauty has fled. 
With brow sadly wrinkled, and hoary thy head, 

Bent low, 'neath the weight of a ripened old age, 
With thy brothers before, to sink in the grave ! 

As the years are so fleeting, may each prove to be 
A record all golden, from selfishness free ; 

Securing at last, a glad entering in 

To that City of Light, which no mortal hath seen. 



EARTH'S JEWELS. 

It is related of Rachel, the "Queen of Tragedies," that, 
clinging to life with a desperate hold, she begged, even in 
dying, to behold the splendid jewels which had been the 
trophies of her triumph. Clutching them with her thin 
hands, she exclaimed bitterly, "Why part with these so soon?" 



POEMS. 109 

"Why part with my jewels so soon ?" 

The Queen of Tragedies said, 
As she begged them all to be brought, 

To behold on her dying bed. 

"These, these are the splendid trophies 
Of triumph and laurels I've won," — 

With pale thin fingers she clutched them, 
And sighed she must leave them so soon ! 

"Vast crowds have admired their beauty, 
To my genius the world bowed down ; 

Would I could carry them with me, 
As I go to the dark grave alone ! 

"O, death ! so cruel, relentless ! 

Why take Fame and jewels so soon? 
Why all Hfe's visions be darkened, 

Ere my sun has scarce reached its noon?" 

Oh ye who're searching for pleasure, 
Gath'ring jewels and laurels of fame, 

You know not how soon you'll leave them. 
And scarce be remembered your name ! 



:0 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Seek, then, that jewel immortal, 

That "pearl of great price," ever fair ; 

'Twill guide through the heavenly portals, 
Set thou then this jewel with care. 

On thy brow fore'er 'twill glitter. 
Its radiance ne'er will grow dim ; 

And in the blest music of Heaven, 
Thou 'It join with the glad seraphim. 



LINES 

Written for a Holmes' entertainment, East Haverhill, 
April 14, 1 88 1. 

Doctor and Poet, thee we find, 
Not often in one man combined ; 
Ready to furnish songs or pills, 
For physical or mental ills. 

For mental ills thy songs oft cheer, 
When "Rip Van Winkle" doth appear, 
"Aunt Tabitha," "Dorothy Q.," 
And "Bill and Joe" burst on the view. 



POEMS. 

And poems, too, for every mood, 
For gayer hours and solitude ; 
For "breakfast table," "dinner," "tea," 
What'er the tastes of guests may be. 

Thy strains on Bryant's natal day, 
Grow sweeter as the years go by ; 
Since lyre unstrung, and spirit gone, 
He chants among the "shining throng." 

When o'er us burst those clouds of war, 
Thy stirring notes were heard afar ; 
Battling for freedom and the right, 
Till rift the clouds, dispelled the night. 

Long hast thou sung — till o'er thy brow 
The silv'ry threads are gleaming now, 
But yet thy spirit will be young, 
Till sounding lyre be all unstrung. 

Ere set life's sun, may years be long — 
Thine harp still breathing sweetest song • 
'Neath touches of the master's hand, 
Singing at length 'mong seraph band. 



I 1 2 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

ON THE RRCEPTION OF A LOVELY ROSE. 

Thanks for the rose thou gavest me, — 
An emblem 'tis of purity, 
Just as its Maker bade it grow, 
To beautify our earth below. 

Its leaves, how delicate and fair. 
Marred not by e'en the slighest scar, 
Surpassing any work of art, 
In such perfection, every part. 

But soon this flower will droop and die, 
Its lovely leaves in ruin lie. 
Its mission done — its perfume fled. 
It lies a scattered wreck instead. 

But not in vain this flower had birth — 
It shed its fragrance o'er the earth. 
How grateful was its sweet perfume. 
Inhaled by all who saw its bloom. 

So may the world brighter appear. 

That we have had existence here ; 

And memories sweet of kindly deed 

Yield fragrance, when life's work has ceased. 



POEMS. 113 

OLDEN MEMORIES. 

I'm sitting in the twilight, 

Pond'ring days of "Auld Lang Syne," 
While a tide of happy mem'ries 

Comes sweeping o'er my brain. 

Memories of happy hours, 

And its sports I loved so well, 
Seeking e'er the first wild flowers, 

On mossy hill or dell. 

Ah ! well do I remember 

The old dark-red school-house dear, 
On thy loved banks, sweet Merrimac ! 

Flowing so bright and clear. 

The loving band who gathered 
With me there from day to day, 

I will not mourn, though some of them 
From earth have fled away. 

Now comes one to my vision, 

With bright blue eyes and gold'n hair, 

Whose soul was lovely as her face, 
Which seemed exceeding fair. 



GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

She grew to womanhood, — was joined 
In holy bands with him she loved : 

But soon the bridegroom called — she said, 
"I haste to dwell above." 

We made her grave in spring-time, 

In a pleasant, flowery dell. 
And grieved that nevermore we'd look 

On the dear form we'd loved so well. 

Others, too, have entered in 
Those pearly gates she left ajar. 

No more they'll tread this world of sin, — 
Naught shall their pleasure mar. 

Other mem'ries come and go, 

Darkly hued, as well as Hght, 
But I will close my simple verse, 

For swiftly fades twilight. 



WINTER SCENES. 

Cpme gather round the social hearth, 
When wintry winds are high, 



POEMS. 115 

And stormy clouds, like battlements, 
Look frowning from the sky. 

Pile high the wood upon the fire. 

And hear its crackling roar. 
As fitfully the blaze ascends, 

We'll heed the storm no more. 

Rut list to scenes of other days. 

As each one in his turn, 
A leaf of memory shall unfold. 

Perchance we'd never learned. 

Grandparents shall be first to speak, 

What changes they can tell 
In their loved homes aud country dear, 

Where many brave ones fell. 

Some, from their own dear childhood homes 

Did sacrifice their life 
In fighting for their country's cause, 

Falling amid the strife. 

The parents next ; what pleasant scenes 
To us they each unfold, 



[6 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Of pleasant school-days, childish sports, 
The half cannot be told. 

But wherefore do their eyes grow dim ? 

Why tears unbidden come ? 
'Tis doubdess for some missing one, 

So long since gathered home. 

Perchance a sprightly little elf, 

Whom everybody loved ; 
Who early strayed from earthly fold, 

To heavenly fold above. 

And now each one, from old to young. 
Doth pleasant memories bring, 

Such pictures bright, when life seemed clad, 
In one perpetual spring. 

Such retrospection, oh, how sweet ! 

So full of light and shade ; 
These shadows Hke an artist's touch, 

The pictures brighter made. 

And thus the hours do sweetly glide, 
Till daylight gently falls, 



POEMS. 117 

And sober evening throws around 
Her dark and shadowy pall. 

Then gather round the social hearth, 

When winter winds are high, 
Nor heed the storm while glide the hours 

With "olden memories." 



1 WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD. 

I would I were a careless child ! 

How blithely would I pass my days ; 
From morn I'd pluck the flow'rets wild, 

Till hid the sun his golden rays. 

I'd pluck the lily and the rose, 
And with sweet-smiling evergreen, 

I'd twine them into garlands fair, 
And deck me like some fairy queen. 

I would not dream that e'er the frost 

Would rob my flowers of their bright hue, 

That e'er their beauty'd fade away, 
And they be hidden from my view. 



I 8 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

I would not dream that ever friends 
Would change, as doth the April day, 

But strengthened would each friendship be, 
As rolled the circling year away. 

I would not dream that ever age 

Would pale the cheek and dim the eye, 

But youthful vigor still remain, 
Till each in turn lie down to die. 

I would not dream that ever death 
Would place his signet on my brow, 

And freeze, by his cold, icy breath, 
Life's blood that flows so freely now. 

Of none of these would I e'er dream, 

But paint the future ever fair, 
And fancy that one day I'd dwell 

Where angels and bright seraphs are. 



"A KINGDOM THAT CANNOT BE MOVED." 

We ask for "a kingdom that cannot be moved," 
Like those mansions enduring beyond the bright 
sky, 



POKMS. 119 

Where the clarion of war will never be heard, 
Nor ever resoiindeth the fierce battle's cry. 

For history is rife with the rise and the fall 
Of nations and empires tow'ring to Heaven, 

But they tottered and fell — their glory has ceased — 
And now scarce a name to some has been given. 

To-day sat the king in great pomp on his throne, 

Throughout his vast kingdom exerting his power, 
But faction rose up, and ere the morrow's sun, 

Was banished or slain, to hold scepter no more. 
The tottering throne no more raised its proud head. 

Its foundation crumbled, no more to be built. 
And the kingdom distracted, in sackcloth did 
mourn. 

Perchance, it may be, the reward of its guilt. 

Thus — thus it has been, e'er since time began, 
And thus it will be till time is no more ; 

Kingdoms fall ne'er to rise, and cruel wars rage, 
Till nations shall cease to extend wealth and 
power. 

E'en now is Columbia, our own happy land, 
Distsacted and suffering, we hope not to fall, 



I 20 GI,EANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

We feel that deliv'rance can come from Thy hand, 
O God of thy fathers ! on Thee we would call. 

Forbid our proud banner should "trail in the dust," 

But o'er our whole country, e'er proudly it wave. 
Send peace ! Oh, send peace ! that the sword may 
be sheathed. 

Our dearly bought freedom, Oh, help us to save ! 
We feel that we merit thy judgments, O God ! 

We have boasted too much of our wealth and 
our power, 
Now help us to bow 'neath thy judgments severe, 

And instead of our gifts, the giver adore. 

And seeing how changing are all things below. 
That kingdoms will fall, though reaching the sky, 

We ask for "a kingdom that cannot be moved," 
E'en that kingdom eternal, beyond the bright sky. 



THE REFINER. 

Cast into the crucible 

Choicest metals e'er have been, 



POEMS. 

Heated by a fiery furnace, 
Till upon its surface seen 

By the gaze of the refiner, 
His own image mirro'd there. 

Oh ! how anxiously he's watched it, 
Lest some dross should still appear. 

He would purify and fit them 

For earth's richest, costliest gems. 

Worthy to be placed by monarchs 
In their Regal Diadems. 

Thus doth Christ, the Great Refiner, 
His own children often cast 

In the crucible of sorrow. 

Round which flames are rising fast. 

Heating up the fiery furnace, 
Till His image doth appear ; 

All the dross of sin consuming, 
That they may His spirit bear. 

He would purify and set them, 
As bright jewels in His crown, 



122 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Beaming there with dazzHng brightness, 
As eternal years roll on. 

Precious saviour ! shall we murmur, 
Though the process be severe ? 

From the furnace we'll look upward, 
And behold Thee seated there. 

Looking on with heart of pity. 
And a countenance of love. 

Well we know that Thou would fit us 
For Thy Regal Crown above. 



GLEANING. 

RUTH II. 19. 

Christian gleaner ! tell me pray. 
Whither hast thou gleaned to-day ? 
Hast thou 'mongst the withered leaves, 
Gathered any scattered sheaves 
To thy God to bring? 

Hast thou by the wayside gleaned 
Any sheaves from scattered seed 



POKMS. 123 

Dropt in seasons long ago, 
Fearing thou might'st never know 
Any fruit therefrom ? 

Or, upon some broad highway, 
Wi)ere crowds throng from day to day, 
'I'hou hast scattered seed for years, 
Wat'ring oft with prayers and tears. 
Has thy heart been cheered ? 

Or, in some vast harvest field, 
Which abundantly doth yield, 
Hast thou after reapers gleaned 
Till all weary thou hast seemed, 

'Neath thy weight of sheaves? 

Hast thou in some humble cot 
Where the world hast seen thee not, 
Words of consolation given ? 
Gathering thus, some sheaf for Heaven, 
Blest has been thy lot ! 

But should'st thou all day have gleaned, 
And thy labor fruitless seemed. 



I 24 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

That SO few have been thy sheaves, 

Bring them all, nor stop to grieve, 

God will not despise. 

He will accept thy strong desire. 
Burning within like hidden fire, 
That thou by thine unceasing toil 
May help to make His garner full 

Of rich and shining sheaves. 

And when the "Heavenly Reapers" come, 
Thou'lt shout with them the "harvest home. 
And while eternal years roll on. 
Mingle fore'er in Heaven's songs. 

Thy sheaves all gathered in ! 



SILVER WEDDING HYMN. 

TO MR. AND MRS. A. D. 

O what a "tide of memories" 
Come thronging back to-day, 

Of the past five and twenty years, 
Sped like a dream away, 



POEMS. 125 

Since you at Hymen's altar stood, 

Your destinies to join ; 
And by the "Man of God" pronounced, 

Henceforth to be "as one !" 

Then you were in the days of youth, 

Your hearts were free from care, 
No shadows of the future came 

To dim the vision fair. 

And from the Hps of loving friends, 

Who looked upon the scene, 
Came greetings kind, that life might glide 

On peaceful and serene. 

And bright methinks the years have sped. 

Few shadows dimmed the way, 
Only to make the scene more bright, 

Like night, preceeding day. 

A child to cheer and bless your home. 

Has unto you been given ; 
We trust to journey on lite's way. 

Till you both rest in Heaven. 



126 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

And now accept our greetings kind, 
With wishes that you may 

A Golden Wedding — Diamond see — 
As speed the years away. 



WOMAN 



Angel of Mercy ! kindly given 

To cheer man through life's desert drear, 
To soothe the heart by anguish riven, 

And wipe away the falling tear. 

Thy heart is full of tenderness, 
Of kindness, gentleness and love ; 

Oh, what a glorious mission thine. 
Angel of Mercy from above ! 

To share with man his joys and griefs, 
To cheer his path thou sure wast given. 

To shed bright sunshine on his way. 
And make his little home a heaven. • 

When cares oppress, and sickness comes, 
A "ministering angel" thou, 



POEMS. I 2 7 

Thou watch'st by his bed of pain, 

And gently sooth'st the fevered brow. 

O man, see that thou duly prize 

This gentle being sent from Heaven, 

And ne'er by harshness or neglect, 
Let her fond heart by grief be riven. 

True, she is frail, and so art thou, 
Then with each other's frailties bear ; 

'Tis Heaven's design that mutually. 

Life's joys and sorrows thou should'st share. 

O woman ! truly blest art thou, 

Without thee dark would earth appear, 

'Tis thy delight to cheer the sad. 
To wipe away the falling tear. 



AN APRU. DAY. 

'Tis a pleasant April day, 
Snows are gliding swift away, 
And the sunshine seems so bright, 
Like a flood of golden light. 



GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Glad, am I that Winter's past. 
Glad the Springtime's come at last, 
Glad to hear the birds' sweet notes 
Piping up from tiny throats. 

So oftimes in human hearts, 
Winter seems so loth to start ; 
And mentally, all's so drear, 
As though Spring would ne'er appear. 

But, Hke sunshine after rain, 
Springtime bursteth forth again, 
''Winter's discontent" forgot 
By the brightness Spring hath brought. 

Let us, then, the lesson learn, 
God will give us in their turn 
Seasons — blessings — He thinks best ; 
Let us leave to Him the rest. 



NO WEEPING THERE. 

No tears in Heaven — 
There all are wiped away 



POEMS. 129 



Ai)d perfect bliss is found, 

In those bright realms of day. 

No grieving there — 

O'er ties all rudely riven, 

And parting is not known 

On the blest shores of Heaven. 

No sickness there, — 

Pain is forever fled, 
And rest is never sought. 

To ease the weary head. 

Age is not there. 

For none are bowed with years, 
But on the brow of each, 

"Immortal youth" appears. 

No night is there, — 

But one eternal day ; 
For every darksome shadow 

Forever's fled away. 

No sin is there, — 
All, all is purity, 



30 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Within those pearly gates, 
'Twill ne'er admitted be. 



No sorrow there, 

O'er loved ones passed away ; 
Stern death can never come 

Within those realms of day. 

Angels are there, — 

A bright and shining throng, 
With Heaven's ransomed hosts, 

They join in rapturous song. 

Loved ones are there, 

Who've gone before to rest. 
Waiting to welcome us, 

To dwell among the blest. 

Jesus is there, — 

'Tis He who makes it Heaven, 
To each of us at last. 

May this sweet rest be given. 



POEMS. 131 

NEW ENGLAND. 

Oh, tell me not of lands more fair, 

Sweet flowers, whose breath perfumes the air 

Of sunnier skies, and scenes more bright, 

Almost enchanting to the sight ; 

Of richer birds, who sweetly sing, 

And fly abroad on rapid wing, 

'Mid orange bowers and stately lime. 

Pleased with their own bright sunny clime, 

Where more delicious fruits abound, 
And golden gems in mountains found ; 
Where spice and pomegranite grow. 
And sparkling waters ever flow. 
I love my own bright Northern home, 
Its pleasant fields I love to roam. 
To see the grain and waving corn. 
When glory gilds the rising dawn. 

To breathe its air so pure and free, 
And hear the birds' sweet minstrelsy ; 
To me her skies seem ever bright, 
Though winter robes the earth in white. 
Then tell me not of lands more fair, — 



132 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

New England ever will be dear ; 
No spot on earth I love so well, 
And here I ever wish to dwell. 



AUTUMN 



Yes ! Autumn with its chilling blasts 

Has returned to us again, 
And the withered leaves are rustling 

Through the forest, o'er the plain. 

Though their living green has faded, 
They are beauteous in decay, 

With their variegated colors, 
As if dyed in sunset ray. 

Spring has passed — the time of sowing, 
Summer, too, with lovely flowers ; 

Oh ! how swiftly sped each season, 
With its bright and gleesome hours. 

Autumn's rich and golden harvest 
Carefully's been gathered in ; 



POEMS. 133 

God has blessed the seed and sower, 
Good and gracious he has been. 

Ye who'd reap a plenteous harvest, 

In the Autumn of your years, 
Plant good seed in life's fair Spring-time, 

Then for age you need not fear. 

Happy memories will cluster. 

Of many a kindly deed, 
Yielding thee abundant harvest ; 

Sow thou, then, the choicest seed. 

Seeds of virtue, and seeds of truth, 

These will yield thee happiness, 
In the rich Autumn of thy years, 

Nor Winter's age know dreariness. 

Ah, no ! thou shalt not dreary be, 

Though death's chill blasts around thee blow. 
Thy soul shall rise to God and Heaven, 

Though sleeping 'neath the wintry snow. 



134 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

THE CRUSADERS. 

"It is related that when Peter the Hermit led on the 
armies of the Crusaders at the taking of Jerusalem, they 
often urged each other on their toilsome way by loudly 
shouting, 'On ! on ! to the Holy City !' " 

"On, on, to the Holy City !" 

The brave Crusaders cry, 
"We'll wrest it from the enemy. 

Yea ! we'll conquer, though we die." 

Their glorious leader, Peter 

The Hermit, led them on ; 
They feared not toil or suffering, 

Though death itself should come. 

Jerusalem they entered, 

And on its walls they stood, 
Welt'ring at every footstep 

In a sea of human blood. 

Here's a lesson for earth's pilgrims, 
Journeying on the heavenly road, 

Oft to urge each other onward 
To the "City of their God !" 



POEMS. 135 

LINES 

Presented to a friend Christmas, 1873, with a picture made 
from Autumn leaves. 

Autumn leaves — how fraught with story 

Of Spring and Summer's faded glory. 

Still in decay they seem more bright, 

Like gold-fringed clouds, 'ere comes the night. 

But though these leaves may fade and die, 
Their ashes will not alwas lie. 
By Spring's soft breezes gently fanned, 
They'll re-appear throughout the land. 

'Tis thus, "frail man," his life how brief! 
He fades and withers "like the leaf," 
But when shall burst the bands of death, 
He shall put on "immortal youth." 

If striving here to do God's will. 
He doth life's great behest fulfil. 
Then bright-hued shall Life's Autumn be. 
So hke these leaves I give to thee. 



LINES 



Read at the Memorial Services of President Garfield, in 
the Baptist Church, East Haverhill, Sunday, September 25, 



136 GLEANINGS FROM MERRIMAC VALLEY. 

Toll softly, ye bells, for a good man has gone ! 
'Tis fitting our nation in sackcloth should mourn, 
For a Garfield beloved, to assassin a prey, 
A blot on our banner, we mourn it to-day ! 
How fondly we hoped that his life might be spared. 
That the Great God would hear our importunate 

prayer. 
Which daily ascended from east and from west ; 
But in grief we would bow to Heaven's behest, 

Rememb'ring that He who doth "temper the wind 
To the shorn lamb," doth know how our sorrows to 

bind. 
And good come from evil, that thus we may see 
How great is His power, how short-sighted are we. 
A braver, and truer, ne'er ruled o'er our land, 
Who aimed to mete justice with impartial hand. 
So loyal to God, to home, country dear, 
What wonder our nation bends low o'er his bier. 

But his mission's ended ; like a hero he fell. 
And the pages of hist'ry the story will tell 
How he fell at his post, still trusting in God, 
With never a murmur 'neath the chast'ning rod. 
Though sleeping to-day, rleaf to earth's praise or 

blame. 
Forever will live his illustrious name. 
And may he who presides o'er our nation to-day, 
Look to Heav'n for guidance, like Garfield, we 

pray. 



